


Step Into My Light

by fruityoatey_bahhh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Bottom Zayn, M/M, Top Harry, Top Liam, side!larry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruityoatey_bahhh/pseuds/fruityoatey_bahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(High School AU) When Zayn starts on bad habits, he's given an ultimatum: shape up or get out. When the preacher's son makes Zayn his mission, he discovers that maybe he just wants to map Zayn's skin with his finger tips and bask in a crisis of faith. Louis' on the football team, and Harry's got a serious thing for athletes. Niall's just kind of there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Into My Light

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, this took forever to get out. I feel so guilty, because it took me so long, and it's probably not very good, so I really apologize. These last couple of months have been crazy, so I hope you can all forgive me. I hope it's at least semi-decent??? You're all lovely, just had to say. Someone had suggested I do something with Liam tutoring Zayn, and another person suggested a religious kind of fic for Liam? And I don't know all that much about religion tbh, but I tried to combine both topics a little, and I hope it's at least okay. For those who suggested those topics, I'm truly sorry if this sucks.
> 
> xoxoxo now I'm gonna sleep. Thank you all for the wait.

**Zayn**

Zayn likes to think that everything happens for a reason. He’s not huge on the ideas of fate, where your life is one big plan of linearized events that are bound to happen whether you want them to or not. He likes to think that the butterfly effect is more to his fancy. Every small decision, every mistake, every touch branches out, and sets off a chain reaction that changes the course of everything. Maybe it makes Zayn feel better about some of the bad choices he makes, and maybe it makes him feel like he’s in control of his destiny, rather than some all-knowing, ever-powerful force.

He’s not a man of faith by any means, but if he believes in anything, it’s himself.

It’s a Thursday. It’s morning. Zayn’s in a right sour mood, because it’s thursday _and_ it’s a morning, but no amount of grumbling at his reflection in the mirror does much to change that.

It’s breakfast when a paper is slapped down onto the counter in front of him. The action jostles his bowl, sending milk sloshing over the sides and onto the mauve tile, but Zayn can tell by the look in his mother’s eyes just then, brimming with barely contained anger and hostility, that she doesn’t care about, or even notice, the mess she’s made.

Edit; this is definitely a great deal worse than it just being a groggy thursday morning.

Funnily enough, Zayn doesn’t even have to look down at the paper to know what it is. Knows that near the top right-hand side of the page is a hastily scrawled crimson F, that’s bleeding into hues of cloudy cotton candy now that it’s soaked in milk. He’d been preparing for this moment for days, honestly shocked that this hadn’t come up sooner.

“Before you say anything,” Zayn starts, raising his hands in defense, and maybe difuse the situation before it escalates, “I have a really, really good excuse this time.”

And he does, too. He remembers the night before the exam very well, in fact. It had been the night after the big football match, and while it was normally tradition for Niall to go out with the team and celebrate after a big win, he and Zayn had instead stolen a bottle of vodka from Niall’s father’s liquor cabinet, and spent the night in Zayn’s car, parked up on a hill that served as a great vantage point to watch the steady blur of traffic below. They’d passed the bottle back and forth, along with a bag of crisps, until it was all either of them could do to keep their eyes open.

He’d never tell his parents about that, though. Instead he comes up with some half muddled lie about tutoring Harry after school, since his parents actually like Harry. Adored him, even. They were not so keen on Niall, however. Something about him being a lousy, immature excuse for a friend, that makes Zayn’s toes curl furiously, because Niall’s honestly one of the sweetest people he’s met.

He also remembered the morning after very well, because he’d instantly had to run to the bathroom, and spent a good chunk of the morning either emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet, or dry heaving over the bowl, before finally pulling himself together enough to go to school, and by then, his brain was in no state to handle logarithmic functions. It was no mystery why he’d failed.

“I don’t care.” His mother fumes, and it’s moments like this when he remembers how truly terrifying his mother can be when she wants to. Her eyes narrowed and radiating something challenging, like she’s daring Zayn to push her buttons even further. In a normal setting, she’s the sweetest woman on the planet, but mothers have this uncanny ability to go from harmless to angry god really quick, or so Zayn’s learned over the years. “And I don’t want to hear it this time, Zayn. It’s your senior year. Your last year. You can’t afford to be getting F’s on your exams in maths, do you understand me right now? Colleges are going to look at this, and move on.”

He nods wordlessly, biting back the fact that he really doesn’t give a shit about maths, let alone what colleges will think when he submits applications, and there are F’s where the A’s are supposed to be. He hasn’t got any major goals, is the thing, and he’d really just be fine settling for a community college instead of a four-year University. He’d never actually relay this information to his parents though. They might actually make him eat his bad scores.

_“Talk,_ Zayn. Use your words. Like we taught you.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, scrunching his shoulders up in a shrug. “You’re always telling me I should go out, and Harry really needed a study partner. I’m not actually _saying_ it’s your fault, but…” He trails off, eyes shifting down to his bowl as his mouth pulls into a shape of indifference.

He listens to his mother exhale like the act of breathing hurt her lungs. Like maybe she’s trying to calm herself down before she actually throws Zayn’s bowl of cereal across the kitchen. “You know, that’s really not funny. Using your words does not mean giving me shit.” She says, lowering her voice when she gets to the expletive. “You’re smarter than this, Zayn.” She sighs, and this time Zayn actually feels genuine disappointment in himself for the hurt look that crosses her face. He’s responsible for that crease between her eyebrows, and frown lines beside her lips.

“I know.” He sighs, leaning back in his seat to push a hand through his hair that’s still a little sticky with product. “I _am_ sorry, okay?”

“Well,” She mimics his sigh, staring at him pointedly, “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. This is the fourth time in the last month that you’ve gotten a score that’s not passing. It’s not me that you’ll have to worry about. Just wait ‘til your father finds out.”

Zayn actually winces at that.

His dad’s always been a hard-arse. He has higher aspirations for Zayn than Zayn has ever had for himself, which he’d normally appreciate if it didn’t get steadily more infuriating the older he got.

“Fuck. I know.” He breathes, moving to go and rinse his bowl out in the sink, grabbing the sponge on the way to wipe up the counter.

“Language.”

“I’m eighteen, mum. I think I’ve heard worse things than the word ‘fuck’ in my lifetime.”

“Yes, I’m all too aware.” She mumbles, ”Zayn, if your sisters start picking up on your bad habits, I-”

“They won’t.” Zayn cuts her off before she can finish. “I’ll get things figured out.”

He knows that she’s not convinced by this, because there’s a tight set to her jaw, and she won’t quite meet Zayn’s eyes.

“I have to go to work.” She says finally, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “We’ll talk later. Your father included.”

Zayn actually feels a little nauseous at the thought, but he swallows the feeling of bile down, and nods.

He feels lips press to his cheek, and doesn’t look up until he hears the front door open, then close, and listens to his mother back out of the driveway, and rev off down the street, before moving from that spot.

******************

**  
**  


“I’m sleeping with this guy, and his dick is abnormally crooked.”

Zayn hardly blinks at the comment he hears as soon as he takes his spot in the smoking circle outside. Frankie’s always going off on shit tangents like this, and really, none of them are even surprised anymore, and while Frankie isn’t technically in the little trio that is made up of Zayn, Niall, and Harry, the redhead is always there with them at lunch. Zayn’s never liked him--he’s obnoxious in the worst way, and an even more obnoxious gossip, somehow-- but Zayn hates confrontation more, so he grits his teeth and deals with it.

The smoking circle is a small, oval courtyard behind the tennis courts, and even though it’s technically against school policy to smoke on campus, students of all circles gathered there to light up, or at least get away between classes. Even some teachers went there to chain smoke after hours.

“Is that a good thing, or is it like riding a fat candy cane?” Niall queues up, and Zayn is silently wondering when this became normal lunch conversation.

Harry is sitting, completing their small circle of four, although he’s silent this morning, lip clamped between his teeth as he works a pair of knitting needles, crafting something too short to be a scarf, but not quite broad enough to be a blanket. They’d all stopped questioning Harry’s behavior the day that Harry had shown up to school at one point during their freshman year with bright blue hair (which had since returned to its brown, shaggy state all these years later) or just the previous year when he’d come dressed as Magenta from the Rocky Horror Picture Show for halloween, with the kinked hair and maid costume and all. Needless to say, he’d been sent home immediately.

He’s eerily quiet today though, and the only input from him comes from the clinking of the knitting needles against the rings on his fingers, with inscriptions too small to be legible from where Zayn’s sitting.

“No, it’s more like riding a hose, but like...when the hose gets that twisty thing in it that makes it hard for the water to come out?.”  Frankie chimes in, picking at one of the threads on his t-shirt, while Zayn lights up a ciggy, the filter clamped between his teeth.

“What a lovely afternoon we’re having.” Zayn pipes up, sounding utterly done with the whole thing as he glances around, like he’s possibly taking a moment to appreciate the nature. Which, as of now, consists of a half dead tree, and grass that hasn’t been fed or watered consistently since he’s been here, so it’s a bright flaxen yellow. He holds a cigarette between his teeth, and blows smoke through the corner of his lips.

“Shut the fuck up, Zayn, my dear. You know you love hearing about my many lovers.” Frankie sighs, with a flare of drama, which is to be expected.

Zayn clenches his jaw, and looks down to his phone. He doesn’t understand why they still sit with this guy. Harry and Niall were always good at remaining cordial with everyone whether or not they really liked them deep down, but Zayn isn’t so easily swayed. Ever since that first day with Frankie, when a shaggy head of red hair and dull amber eyes had plopped down with the three of them, Zayn thought maybe they’d be able to get along. Up until he opened his fucking mouth. Now Zayn knows it’s a hopeless case.

He tips his head back and takes another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs until they start to burn, and he lets it all out again, watching a grey cloud furl up into the air, before fading away.

“I’ll let you live with that delusion since you seem to fancy it.” Zayn drawls, thumbs flying across his phone screen. “I think we’re all very appreciative when you’re not talking about cock all day.”

“Come on, Zaynie.” Frankie cooes, leaning forward on his hands to try and catch Zayn’s attention. “I have a hunch that you like your fair share of cock. I know Harry does, at least.” And there’s a syrupy sick tone to his voice that has Zayn looking up, eyes darting between the two boys in confusion.

Zayn can see Harry’s hands stop their motions for just a second, before he’s knitting at an alarming pace, needles clacking together loudly. He’s frowning, too, in that way that has a wrinkle forming across his brow that Zayn knows only comes when Harry’s really bothered.

“Are you okay?” Niall finally speaks up.

“Yeah,” Frankie chimes in, “What’s wrong, cupcake?” and his voice is knowing, instead of genuine with concern.

Harry exhales sharply, letting his hands and the needles drop into his lap. “Nope. I’m great. Really.” He speaks, eyebrows raised like he’s challenging anyone to say otherwise. “But maybe we can change the topic?”

Zayn glances to Niall, and sky blue eyes are flickering back to his.

“Here we go.” Niall mumbles, almost silently, before sucking in a breath.

“That depends.” Frankie starts. “Are you acting shitty because you disapprove, or have you got some problem with the fact that my sex life is actually something that exists? Unlike yours, at the moment.”

Harry meets Frankie’s stare with vehemence. “I don’t _have_ a problem. I just think that _maybe_ you should try to--oh, I don’t know-- find something else to talk about that doesn’t involve you being bent over a counter, or on all fours, or making some asinine comment about all the boys you’ve fucked, and tossed away.”

“Really?” Frankie scoffs, eyes narrowing dangerously. “That didn’t seem to matter so much to you just a couple of months ago when you started dating Jason, the famous football player who was so far in the closet, I’m surprised he wasn’t suffocating. I was forced to listen to you spew poetry about his veiny, shriveled ball sack for weeks, before you finally wised up enough to realize that he was fooling around behind your back. With his ex-girlfriend, no less.”

Zayn meets Niall’s eyes across the circle. There’s some silent communication exchanged, before Zayn gives Frankie a warning look. Frankie loves to push buttons, and he does it all the time, but even he, the guy without a filter, should know better than to bring Jason up, and honestly, if anyone deserves that kind of treatment, that someone is definitely not Harry.

“That’s enough.” Zayn hisses, and Niall only has the energy to let out a dejected sigh.

“Seriously.” He adds, turning bright blue eyes over all of them, although they’re a little gentler. “What’s your issue, man?” And the question is directed at Frankie, but Harry answers anyway.

“Don’t open that door.” Harry grunts, raveling the excess amount of yarn around his needles, before standing up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got to run. My mum needs me home early today.”

“Ooh, a mummy’s boy.” Frankie pouts, reaching up to pinch Harry’s arse when he goes to step around him, and Zayn tenses, anger coiling tightly in his chest. “Are you this obedient in the sack?”

“Fuck off.” Harry seethes, smacking his hand away, but not before turning to the other two boys with a remorseful wince. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” Zayn says, eyebrows furrowed together as they watch Harry’s lanky figure stumble off towards the parking lot.

“Honestly, mate.” Zayn finally speaks, heatedly glaring at the redhead. “You touch Harry like that again, unwanted, and I’ll break your fucking arm.”

Frankie only smiles, eyebrows shooting up like he’s thrilled and amused all at once. “Ooooh, Zayn, you should be careful when you use that tone of voice with me. It gets me all hot for you.”

Zayn’s about to spit something else at him, but Niall’s speaking up before he can. _“Jason’s?”_ he says, eyeing Zayn as he nods towards the parking lot, and despite the calm, cheery register of his voice, Niall’s eyes are telling him that it’s not so much a question as it is a get me the fuck out of here.

“Yeah. Please.” Zayn sucks in a breath of smoke, before crushing his cigarette under the toe of his boot.

Frankie doesn’t say anything. Only clenches his jaw, and doesn’t even bat an eyelash as Niall and Zayn just up and leave, and really, it’s better this way.

“The fuck was that about?” Niall asks once they’re out of earshot, and in Zayn’s car.

“How the hell should I know? I didn’t get the context. Frankie’s just about the biggest cunt on the planet.” He mumbles, letting his window down once they’re surrounded by dried out suburbs and dusty fields.

_Jason’s_ is nothing more than a grow house on the outskirts of town, unkempt and run down, but ideal for growing pot, if one was so inclined.

Some local college students had set up camp there, and when Zayn came calling with a wad of cash, they were more than happy to supply him with whatever he needed typically.

When Zayn sees the mossy, plexi-glass panels out in the distance, he feels like maybe a couple joints are very, very much needed right now.

**  
**  


**************************

**Liam**

_Keep your head down,_ Liam would have to tell himself. _It’s not in the spirit of prayer to look up._

He has his hands clasped together, calloused fingers folded tightly, and his head is ducked, eyes just barely held shut while his father’s melodic whispered voice carries across the dinner table like a fog.

They did this every meal.

Thanked the heavens above for their meal, their family, their every breath.

Tonight was special, or so Father Payne had deemed it.

Liam had gotten stellar scores on every standardized test he’d poured his heart and soul into studying for, and all those sleepless nights had finally paid off. Better still, his father had been brought in as the local priest, which was what had dragged them out of their house almost four hours away, and into this danky suburb, right after his father had been awarded the position.

_“We go where the people need us. We're meant to go there.”_ He remembered his father say that previous month, when they had all been sat around the same dinner table, but in a different dining room, in a different house, surrounded by peeling floral wall paper. The house that Liam had been born and raised in. The house where he’d first learned to ride a bike, and the one where he’d brought his first girlfriend home to meet his parents; a good, Christian girl that Liam had adored to no end.

Leaving all that behind felt sacrilegious almost, because that home felt like such a holy place. The place where Liam had been raised on bible scripture, mornings spent getting ready for Sunday service, and countless holidays with countless relatives.

“ _You can’t think only of yourself in this, Liam.”_ His father had said to him one night. A night where his mother had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the telly, like she usually did, and there was only heavy silence between Liam and his father. Liam had chosen that moment to express feeling sad about leaving everyone he knew and cared about. “ _Greed and selfishness are the marks of a weak man. You cannot afford to be weak, Liam. I won’t allow it. Do you remember all we've talked about?”_

Liam didn’t want to be greedy. And selfishness was unbecoming on him. He knew that the move was for the best, even if it tore him apart inside. Knew that it was his father’s dream to help people, and preach in front of masses of people, and he only wanted the best for his parents, just like they wanted the best for him.

He’d swallowed his feelings, kissed his girlfriend goodbye, waved his friends goodbye, and now they were here. A fresh start. A fresh home. A fresh landscape of people to change, to preach to, and that’s how his father saw it. A blank canvas with all the brushes and acrylics laid out for them.

_“Think of it.”_ Father Payne had spoken on the drive up. _“You’ve passed every mark required to graduate. Now it’s just about coasting by for these last few months. Passing maybe one or two actual courses. None of this should be a problem for you, son.” And it had never been a problem for Liam before, so he couldn’t very well disagree._

Even surrounded by his entire life packed away in boxes, Liam wasn’t sure that this place would ever begin to feel like home. Not truly. It still smelled like fresh cut wood and drying paint. The neighborhood didn’t have that homey, tight-knit feel that the last one had. There weren’t kids riding their bikes up and down the streets, and there certainly wasn’t a level of kinship shared between members of the community. Here, everyone kept to themselves, and maybe Liam wasn’t the biggest social butterfly in the world, but he’d never felt more isolated in a place like this.

As his father whispered, “Amen,” and his mother reached across to give his hand a gentle squeeze and a smile to match, Liam knew then for the first time in his life what it felt like to want to sneak out in the middle of the night with his best mates.

His best mates were far away, though, and Liam didn’t think there was a rebellious bone in his body. Sneaking out in the middle of the night would probably only leave him a nervous wreck. So much so that it would be impossible to enjoy it.

As Liam laid in bed that night--although it wasn’t so much a bed, as it was a mattress on the floor, since his bedframe had been damaged in the move--he knew it would be the first night in his life where he wouldn’t sleep soundly. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t sleep soundly for a while.

**  
**  


******************

**Zayn**

There’s a cigarette held tightly between Zayn’s lips as he drives into the school lot, but he nearly drops it into his fucking lap when he slams on the breaks so hard, only mere inches from the parked car in front him.

A car parked in Zayn’s spot.

It’s not officially his. His name’s not on it, or anything.

But this car, an old clunky station wagon, is sitting in the spot that Zayn’s hand-me-down jeep has occupied since the second semester of his tenth year in secondary school.

Part of Zayn just wants to drive into. Wreck the rest of their day too, maybe, because yeah. Zayn was reaching that point, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet.

He could still hear his father’s voice from last night, when he, his mother, and father had sat down after Zayn’s siblings had been put in bed, and had probably one of the most tense conversations of Zayn’s life.

His jaw had been clenched painfully tight by the end of it, and his father didn’t even look ruffled, which was almost the most annoying part. That his old man could keep his steely, cool expression, without even giving Zayn the satisfaction of looking pissed.

_“You’re not to see Niall anymore.”_ Had been his first words to Zayn. _“He’s obviously imparting bad habits, because this behavior hasn’t started until now.”_

Zayn bit back the urge to tell his father that, in his highly elaborate lie from earlier, he’d made the statement that he’d been studying with Harry, not Niall, but he had a feeling that the old man would go for the blonde anyway.

_“You’re to stop smoking. I don’t even know how or when you picked up that nasty habit, but it stops now. You’re not to walk in smelling like smoke, or so help me Zayn, you’re on your own. I won’t promote such a filthy habit.”_ And something icy shot low into his stomach. Quitting now would probably only make things that much worse in comparison. _“And if these grades aren’t up within the quarter, you really are on your own. You’ll find your own place, and you will handle your own finances, and you will pay for any further education. Do you hear me? I don’t care how many loans you have to take out if it comes to that. I will not endorse this behavior, and I certainly won’t reward it by putting a roof over your head and food in your mouth. Your mother and I have reached our limit. This is your last chance, and final warning.”_

And that had been it. Zayn’s father fixed him with one last icy stare, devoid of so much as a twitch of the eyebrow, before standing up, taking his wife’s hand, and leading her to bed. Zayn only sat there, amidst his thoughts, and the slow, cold rage left to simmer to a boil in his lower stomach.

He had scrubbed a hand through his hair, and quietly slipped out the back door, smoking the last of the cigarettes left in the pack. He’d either have to quit cold turkey, or find some clever way to sneak smokes, although he didn’t know how that could possibly work, considering that the smell clung to a person like nothing else.

He slept fitfully that night, and when he left the house the next morning, he scarcely said one word to either of his parents, but made sure to give his sisters all a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

And now, someone had just decided to take the shit cherry on top of a shit cake, and take his parking spot. One he’d purposefully picked that was towards the back to avoid having to park in between the cluttered masses of students with bright, shiny cars that their parents had bought them for their sweet sixteens, or some shit.

He was officially over this whole day.

Instinctively, he reached for the pack of cigs in his back pocket, and beat his hands against the steering wheel when he realized that, oh yeah. He didn’t have any today. Perfect.

He let out a sigh, before backing out, and parking in the spot that sat between a dumpster and a tree, grabbed his backpack from the back, and made the trek up to the school, a grimace pulling at his face the whole damn time.

“Hey, buddy.”

Zayn didn’t bat an eyelash when he felt Niall’s arm clap him around the shoulder, with more force than probably necessary. Niall forgot his own strength sometimes, and while he wasn’t exactly buff, he definitely wasn’t noodly either.

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning? You look absolutely wrecked.”

“Thanks.” Zayn mumbled, lips pulled down like there was a bitter taste in his mouth. “And nice visual, that’s just wanted I wanted to picture all morning long.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Niall grinned, both of them stopping, and glancing back in question when a voice from all the way down the hall called Niall’s name.

“Hey.” Niall said, mouth pulling into an easy grin.

The boy in question was maybe a half an inch shorter than either of them, but he stood sturdy, and tall, like he was ready to take down anyone that commented on his size. He ran a hand through his feathery brown fringe, looking like maybe he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to part it to the left or right side, or whether he just wanted to brush it up into a swoop.

“Hey.” The boy rasped, giving Zayn a look that was a little more frigid, and a little less friendly. “Practice is starting half an hour earlier tonight. We’re gonna run through drills, and shit.”

“Drills n’ shit. Got it.” Niall beamed, hooking an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, as he reached for the other guy’s arm. “You’ve met my lover, Zayn, no?” Niall spoke, clearly joking in his tone and in what he was insinuating. Because Zayn loves Niall, he does. But definitely not in that way.

“No.” The boy replied, although his voice was devoid of any of the warmth that Niall’s reflected.

Niall blinked, looking between the two of them for a second. “Man, you’re both fucking shitty this morning. Good thing the sun shines out of my arse, where your pale arses lack it.” Niall grinned then, giving Zayn a sharp clap on the shoulder.

“Good thing.” Zayn replied, puffing up his cheeks, before sighing. “Look, I should get to class. It was...nice meeting you?” He shrugged, giving the other guy a look. There’s still nothing resembling warmth in those blue eyes. They just stare blankly, like standing amongst the two of them was a chore.

“Oh, that’s Louis.” Niall popped in. “He’s on the team. One of the captains, actually. He’s brilliant out on the field.”

“Right.” Zayn nodded, giving Louis a small, informal salute with two fingers. “Nice meeting you. Briefly. I’ve got to go.”

And with that, he turned out of Niall’s grip, and walked away, keeping his head ducked, and his shoulders slouched, because he thinks if one more person decides to approach him, he might just actually beat them to death with his book bag. He’s not quite in the mood he’d like to be.

Plus, he really just doesn’t want to stick around for Niall’s inevitable spew of football jargon that Zayn just doesn’t understand, or care to understand, and Louis didn’t seem like he was too thrilled to see Zayn either. Maybe they could bond over their shared irritation, but Zayn’s not holding his breath.

It’s later that day--three classes later, to be exact--that Zayn realizes something’s out of place.

Normally, he sits in the second to last row, up against the furthest right hand wall. He doesn’t quite sit all the way in the back, because then he’d have to bring his glasses every day, and he’s not sure he’s ready to risk losing-slash-breaking his glasses just yet. Just gives his parents another excuse to threaten kicking him out, although he suspects that his father is mostly behind that, rather than his mother.

Except, today, much like his parking spot, there’s a boy in his seat, because why wouldn’t someone try to shit on his day even more. Zayn’s just about ready to try that throttling thing on someone.

He barely casts the boy a glance, and goes to sit in the seat behind him. He’ll just have to deal with not being able to see much of anything on the board, but he’s okay with that. Hadn’t really planned on bringing his A-game.

The first thing Zayn does when he sits down is lays his head on the table, thankful for the wooden surface that cools his forehead, until his skin makes it lukewarm. Then it just feels irritating.

The second thing Zayn does--or rather, feels-- is a gentle tap on the shoulder that has him looking up with his eyebrows drawn together, because whoever just touched him better be prepared to have their head chewed off.

Except any semblance of fight in him drains when he meets a pair of wide brown eyes, and swollen pink lips that look like they’re trying to form sentences, but Zayn doesn’t pick up on them quite yet, because he’s really not even listening. His brain is in a state of mush. He can’t even remember the snappy comeback he’d formulated for this occasion.

“What?”

The guy pauses, reaching up to scratch his jaw for a second, and Zayn can hear the stubble scrubbing against this guy’s calloused fingertips.

“Sorry. I, uh…” The guy pauses, and Zayn waits, although he kind of wants to reach over and shake him by the shoulders, just to see if the words will come out any faster. Granted, this guy is built bigger than Zayn, and Zayn really doesn’t want to be punched in the face by someone bigger than him today. Maybe tomorrow. “I’m not sure where we’re starting. In the book.” The boy adds for emphasis, holding up a version of the class textbook. It looks brand new, compared to the one that’s bent and stained in a thousand different areas, but he knows the school doesn’t have the budget to replace them. “I also don’t have anything to write with.” He admits, looking sheepish.

Zayn only blinks, before leaning back in his seat. “Did you not pay attention yesterday?” And his words sound more accusatory than he’d intended, but Zayn gives off the arsehole-ish vibe, so he’s at least being true to his image, so to speak.

The boy looks taken aback, like he can’t quite wrap his mind around what Zayn just asked him, and the expression looks almost comical. Like Bambi’s face on the Hulk’s body. It’s obviously an exaggeration, but it’s the only one that seems to fit right now.

“Uh, no?” The guy blinks, thick eyebrows scrunching up in the center. “I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“You skipped?” Zayn asks, and he doesn’t know why he’s bothering, or even acting like he cares, but the guy’s kind of hot, and maybe he likes putting that perturbed look on that boyish face.

“No.” The boy looks astonished at the mere thought, like skipping was the lowest of the low. “I’m new. It’s my first day.”

Zayn’s not really surprised. He doesn’t usually pay his classmates much attention, but he knows faces, and he definitely hasn’t seen this face. He’d remember if he had. “Oh. Page two-hundred and six. We’re covering...something about analyzing for rhetorical something, or rather.”

The guy looks like he disapproves, and honestly, it’s not Zayn’s fault that the curriculum sucks, so the hurt puppy look can stop.

Zayn takes a minute to understand why he’s still being stared at, and then it clicks.

He grabs the green mechanical pencil that’s already sitting out on his desk, and reaches across to hand it to the guy, the latter of whom just kind of stares at it in Zayn’s outstretched hand.

“You know, it only works if you actually pick it up and use it.” Zayn shrugs. “Just a tip for your first day.”

The boy flushes all the way up from his neck, and snatches the pencil away, before turning around.

Zayn cocks his head to the side, and leans his head in his hand as he’s left to stare. “You’re welcome.” He mumbles, raising an eyebrow.

He watches the line of the boy’s nicely toned shoulders tense, before relaxing again.The guy turns his head, so Zayn can just barely glimpse over the profile of his face, to say a quiet, “Thank you.”

Zayn suspects it’s only said out of courtesy, because as soon as the words leave the guy’s mouth, he’s turned back around, and doesn’t turn back around for the rest of class.

Zayn can’t see the board, so he decides to fuck it all, and let his eyes wander over what he can see of this guy. Lets his eyes skim over the curve of the guy’s throat, and the back of his head. He lets his eyes drop down futher, because his shoulders and back are damn nice. So nice that Zayn can imagine gripping onto them for dear life; digging his nails into lithe muscle and tan skin. But Zayn also has a hunch that this guy is pretty vanilla. Vanilla in the sense that this is the kind of guy who would only sleep with his wife once a month, on a pre-planned date, and only in the missionary position. Slow, awkward thrusts. Completely boring.

Still. Zayn can look, can’t he? This guy is _built,_ and Zayn allows himself one whole class period to drool over that.

By the end, Zayn’s shoving his things into his bag. He hadn’t done a single damn thing, but doesn’t think he missed a whole lot.

When he goes to pass by the new boy’s desk, he hears a soft, “Hey,” pull him back.

He turns his head over his shoulder, and raises his eyebrows when he finds light brown ones looking back, holding his gaze there. The new guy holds the pencil out, much like Zayn had done earlier.

“Thanks.”

Zayn’s eyes flicker down to the pencil, before back up to that pretty face. “Keep it. It’s a welcome present. Or something.” He mumbles, lifting a shoulder, before turning to leave.

On his way to lunch, he licks his chapped lips, and ignores the light throbbing in his head. His fingers are twitching for a cigarette, and that feeling alone is enough to keep him from thinking about broad shoulders, and a thin cotton t-shirt that does little to conceive a lining of muscle underneath skin.

He locks those thoughts away for when he’s alone in his bed at night, with nothing else to jerk off to.

But for now, he can forget the boy entirely.

Loaning him pencils is not going to become a habit.

*********************

It’s later, after school, when they’re all lounging at Harry’s place that Harry finally comes out with it.

Niall’s sat on the bed, back propped up against the wall, while he holds a sloppily rolled joint between his teeth, flipping the lid of the lighter open with a flick of his wrist.

“Yes, mum.” Zayn mumbles, keeping his voice a little on the louder side. He’s got his cellular clamped between his cheek and his shoulder as he talks, using his hand to flip through a book for English Lit. “Yes. I’m at Harry’s.”

Harry looks up, and cracks a smile.

Zayn’s eyes glance over to Niall then, watching the blonde hold a lighter up to the tip of the rolled paper, setting it ablaze and inhaling immediately. The acrid smell of pot smoke immediately starts to waft through the enclosed space.

“They make some good product.” Niall says on the exhale, as a puff of smoke leaves through his lips.

Zayn frowns, and kicks at him. He raises a finger to his lips, and shakes his head, and Niall only grins in response.

“Might be here awhile. Yeah.” Zayn speaks, licking at his bottom lip a few times. He really needs to invest in chapstick. “Might stay the night. I haven’t decided. We’ve got a lot to work on though.” He pauses again, eyebrows knitting together. “No. I’ll eat here...yeah...no, I’ll call. Okay.” he pauses again, inhaling the smoky, bitter smell. He’s grown to love it, honestly. “Bye, mum.” He mumbles, before pulling the phone away from his ear, and tossing it to the side.

“How’s mummy?” Niall asks, grinning a little more than usual.

“Still doesn’t like you.” Zayn shoots him a wry smile, before flicking his eyes ceiling ward. “But, she’s very proud that I’m ‘finally taking initiative.’ And, of course, she boils it down to Harry, being the apparently ethereal being that he is.”

“What can I say?” Harry smirks from his side of the room, where he’s leaned up against the closet door. “I’m a great guy to bring home to the parents.”

“Yeah, you’re an attractive guy, Harry.” Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Not really my type, though.”

Harry actually has the stones to look mildly hurt by the statement, holding a hand up to his chest. “Not your type? Who is your type, then. Thor?” Harry snorts.

Zayn’s eyebrows creep up, before he’s barking out a laugh. “Thor? Hm. I mean, he’s not unappealing, obviously. Not sure if I’d want to spend each and every day with that, though. Seems like a little too much to handle.”

“Bet his cock is, too.” Niall mumbles, staring at some point on Harry’s wall.

Zayn and Harry both give him a look, before cracking a smile.

“Come on, you actually have to share, you twit.” Zayn says, leaning forwards on his knees to pluck the spliff from Niall’s fingers.

He props it between his own lips, before leaning back against the wall.

He stares at Harry for a second, before Harry’s eyes are holding his, and he’s raising his eyebrows. “See something you like, Zayn?” He asks, and there’s a teasing undertone to his words.

Zayn snorts, head shaking side to side. “Are you okay? Yesterday afternoon was kind of… Fucking weird.”

Harry’s expression falls then, and he looks a little tense in his spot, arms drawing close to cross over his chest. He looks away. “Yeah. It was. What of it?” But there’s not really any fight in his voice.

Zayn only shrugs, but Niall lays down on his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows.

“Did he do something to you?” Niall asks, slapping Zayn’s hand away when it comes up to clip him on the ear.

Harry looks uncomfortable in his spot, squirming in his spot against the closet. “No. I mean. Not really. He didn’t force himself on me, if that’s what you’re implying.” He mumbled, shaking his head.

“Well. I don’t mean to pry into your life, man, but if something happened…” Zayn trails off, “...yeah, it’s not often that the lot of us have a heart-to-heart, but if you need one…”

Harry smiles at the both of them, eyes crinkling up a little, before he shrugs. “It was nothing. I honestly should’ve known better. After the football game the other night, he was being oddly nice. Like...no sarcasm, no arsehole-ish behavior. He didn’t even utter the word ‘cock’ all night, so I thought that was a small victory. Anyway, he was just being really nice. Touching my arm, leaning into my side, giving me that look. I’m not really into him like that, you know? But after Jason...having that kind of attention is nice. Makes you feel like the last guy who hurt you was wrong. Like you deserve to be treated well, which sounds cheesy, right? I know.”

“It’s not cheesy, don’t be an arse.” Niall interrupts, reaching across the clip Harry playfully across the side of the head. “You’re fucking gorgeous. I mean, you’re weird sometimes, but it’s endearing, right? Guys who like dick eat that shit up. So to speak.”

“Anyway,” Zayn speaks, pressing his palm against Niall’s face, and nudging him backwards, until he’s flopping back onto the duvet, stoned enough not to protest. “You were saying.”

“I was saying. Right.” Harry smiles, lifting his shoulders like it’s all he’s really got to offer at this point. “I just...we just ended up in the backseat of his car. I don’t know how I even let him convince me to drive off somewhere with him, but I did, and he started kissing me. He was delicate at first, but then he got a little rough, and I just wasn’t into it. He uses a gross amount of tongue. Like, tongue’s nice, right? But not when it’s literally all tongue, and you feel like you’re gonna possibly choke on it. So I pushed him off, suddenly realizing how stupid I’d been, because I really don’t want to, you know...stick my willy in that. No thanks.” Harry let out a heartfelt chuckle, hands resting on his stomach. “I walked home that night, safe to say.”

Zayn and Niall sat in relative silence, the room becoming just a touch hazier with smoke. None of them had really even thought about cracking a window. This is why they’re all flunking high school. Can’t even remember to open the damn windows.

“Okay.” Niall says, sitting up, although his vision looks a little glazed over, and the whites of his eyes are a little bloodshot now. “Want me to beat his arse?”

“No.” Harry snorts, reaching to untangle the rolled ciggy from Zayn’s fingers, holding it between his teeth. “We can hope that the universe is kind enough to exact some kind of vengeance. I’m quite content to wait until it happens.” He concludes, licking his lips shiny, before wrapping his lips around the tip, inhaling deeply.

“Is your mum gonna care when she comes back to find that your room has been hot boxed?” Niall asks absentmindedly, reaching for his phone on the bed next to him.

Harry pulls the joint from his lips, and exhales, letting more smoke join the atmosphere. “She’s got the night shift tonight. And I’m about eighty-six percent sure that she already knows I smoke. She’s found the odd bong here and there. Hasn’t really said anything. Don’t think she cares, honestly.” He says, his smile easy as it forms it’s way over his lips, curling them like smoke.

“Have any of you ever sent a dick pic?”

Zayn ignores Niall’s question. He wonders if Niall can process the words in his head before they come out of his mouth. Probably not.

“I’m staying over. Just so you.” Zayn prompts, nudging Harry’s spindly leg with his foot. “If I go home smelling like pot, I’m out of the house. If I go home smelling like nicotine, then I get kicked out of the house. I’m sleeping over.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not cleaning up after your hair product, though. That was a disaster the last time.” Harry says, nose scrunching up at the thought. “Niall? You staying over?”

Niall only makes an unintelligible noise that sounds like an affirmation.

Harry smiles all wide and crooked like, and claps his hands together once. “Great. I’m ordering pizza.” He says, through an exhale of smoke.

*********************

It’s when Zayn’s finally home the very next morning that he realizes.

Something’s off.

Harry gives him a ride home, and maybe he’s too out of it to notice when he’s walking up the driveway. He can hear Harry shout something to him, before speeding off. He doesn’t really hear it though.

It’s just as he’s unlocking the door and stepping inside, that he realizes it.

He completely freezes, and there’s heat prickling up the back of his neck, and he’s really, really, really hoping that he hadn’t just seen what he thinks he’s seen.

Or rather, hasn’t seen.

He turns on the ball of his foot, and looks out.

Where his shitty, hand-me-down car is supposed to be sitting, all pretty and breaking down in the gravel driveway, there’s nothing.

Like it magically decided to just up and lift off one day.

Maybe Zayn’s still stoned. It can’t be out the realm of possibility.

Except pot wouldn’t logically make a person hallucinate. Not typically, anyway. He leaves the door hanging open, and walks over to that empty square of driveway, and that right then tells him that, yeah. This is very real.

No car. Car gone.

Zayn grits his jaw, hard, and stalks back inside, slamming the door behind him as he stomps into the kitchen.

  
His mum looks up from her phone, and a guilty expression instantly etches its way onto her face, like she knows exactly what this is.

“What the fuck.” Zayn starts, voice surprisingly low as he stares at her, hoping to sweet motherfucking fuck that this is not happening, and that she’ll prove him wrong. Say that Zayn’s dad had taken it out for an oil change, or something.

His mum stares back for a second, before her expression falls into neutral again. “Speak to your father about it.”

He waits for her to say something else while she ties her long, black hair into a braid, still getting ready for the day of work ahead. She doesn’t say anything else, or make any inclination of saying anything else.

“That’s it?”

“Well, what do you expect, Zayn?” She snaps, leveling him with a look that indicates she’s just as upset as he is, but for a different reason entirely. “Do you think that parents are in the business for rewarding good behavior? You messed up, and now you’re having some privileges taken away until you get your act together. Your father and I spoke at length about it, and the car is a necessary sacrifice. And I’m not arguing the matter with you any farther.”

“I’m eighteen.” Zayn protests.

“And still living under my roof.” She counters, raising an eyebrow. “You know the dinner I make for you in the evenings? And the food you get from the pantry and fridge for breakfast and lunch? We pay for that. For you. Give you nice things. We even let you keep your phone, since you’ve got a busier schedule now.”

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if maybe he could find an ocean in which to drown himself in.

“Yeah, you forget that I need the car to drive to school.”

“You can take the bus.” She shrugs.

Zayn’s jaw actually drops. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. Walk, or take the bus, or call Harry, or one of your other friends who’s responsible enough to get you from point A to point B.”

It’s been years since Zayn’s taken an actual school bus, and he’s not going to broach that method ever again. As far as he’s concerned, he’d rather the bus run over him repeatedly than be on it.

“Like I said before, talk to your father if you’ve got a problem. He has the spare key.” She mumbles, letting a breath hiss past her lips.

Just then, one of Zayn’s sisters comes charging down the stairs, her whole face breaking out into a grin that’s sticky with pink, bubblegum toothpaste that Zayn’s pretty sure is made more of sugar and glitter than it is actual toothpaste.

“Zayn!” She calls, running over to wrap her small, slender arms around Zayn’s hips, hugging him tight.

He can’t very well be angry at her. Ever. He adores her way too much, and if he had the means, he’d spoil her rotten like a good older brother.

He leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head, where her hair parts into two separate ponytails, her hair just as dark and long as their mother’s.

“I wish I could stay, lovey dove.” He mumbles, playing with her ponytails. “Got to start my walk to school.” He hums, shooting an overdone smile to no one in particular. He knows it’s petty, but he’s bitter, and frustrated, and he wishes Harry had stayed, and since he’s probably at school by now, the good little student that he is, it’s probably too late for him to swing back around and pick Zayn up. Again.

He’s grumbling when he pulls his shoulderbag on, and hardly casts a glance back as he steps out the door.

By car, the drive to school is a short one. Without traffic, it’s typically about five to ten minutes tops.

Walking? Zayn imagines it will take him the better part of half an hour, to forty-five minutes. Fucking beautiful.

He’s completely lost in self-pitying thoughts, seriously considering the idea of picking up part-time work to get a flat of his own, early. A shitty, run-down place that he might be able to make work if he tried really, really hard.

Anything to get out of there.

Part of him realizes that this might be a winning combination of almost no sleep, and a chronic case of It’s too fucking early, fucking fuck off, and the fact that his father’s decided to put his foot down, but his jaw is clenched and his hands are fisted at his sides the whole time he walks, watching cars speed by longingly.

Driving is so convenient.

It isn’t until a twig snaps under his feet, and he’s pulled from his thoughts, that he realizes there’s a wood-plated station wagon driving along next to him, in a way that would’ve been creepy, and definitely is when Zayn looks over, and there’s someone staring back, thick eyebrows drawn together.

For a second, Zayn’s too tired brain tells him that this boy looks familiar, like he should be able to recall a name by the lost, vaguely horrified look that’s settled on the pretty boy’s face. But then Zayn puts two and two together, and realizes it’s the boy from English class. The new kid.

Zayn cocks an eyebrow, and he’s stood still now, and so is the guy’s car, and for a second, they both just look on at each other in morbid curiosity.

Zayn rolls his eyes, before gathering his wits, and approaching the car. He knocks at the window with his knuckles, until the boy rolls it down, leaning across the gear shift to talk.

“Is there a reason you’re ogling me?” Zayn raises an eyebrow, head moving to rest over to one side. “Because, I’ll have you know, it’s only the straight-forward ones who get me into bed.”

The guy looks horrified, and his whole face turns red. Zayn’s pleased with himself.

“No. No, no, that’s not what this is about.” He says, licking his candy pink lips until they're shiny, and Zayn pointedly follows the movement of his tongue with his eyes.

“No?” Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. Why the fuck are you staring, then?”

“I was going to offer you a ride.” The guy glares out the windshield, looking like he’s regretting the idea at this point.

Zayn softens a little. “If you’ve got heating, then I’m down.”

He wastes no time before opening the passenger side door, and sliding into the worn vinyl seat.

The guy looks like he’s about to protest, but looks like he thinks better of it, and drives off.

“Please put your seatbelt on. Now.” He mumbles.

Zayn’s just getting warm. Like, he’s just about to hold his frost-bitten hands over the vents that are bleeding heat, and it’s like he’s in the car with his dad instead of the handsome boy from advanced english. “You’re proper polite, aren’t you?” Zayn snorts, turning to give him a look. “And do you actually have a name? You look like a Jimmy, so I’ll just call you that until I hear your actual one.”

“It’s Liam.”

Zayn makes an unintelligible noise, and nods. “Liam. _Leeyum.”_ He says, tasting the word on his tongue. “Thanks for the ride, _Leeyum.”_

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Liam says in a tone that’s very much clipped, and his jaw looks clenched. It’s also sharp enough to cut glass by the looks of it, and yeah. Zayn’s into it. His jaw, anyway. Liam himself seems like a bit of a dick.

They’re silent for a beat or two, but Zayn can’t relax, because Liam squirms in his seat like nobody he’s ever seen, and he’s considering asking Liam to sit the fuck still, but before he can, Liam’s melodic voice is breaking up the silence a little.

“I never got your name.”

“Zayn.” He answers promptly, leaning the seat back a notch or two.

“Zayn.” Liam repeats, licking his lips again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Zayn says, drumming his fingers against his knees. “Where’d you move from, Liam?” He asks, because no one moves here. Not in the time Zayn’s been here, at least.

“It was a small communion town. Couple hours east of here.” Liam mumbles.

Zayn stares at Liam. What an enlightening answer. Not vague in the slightest.

“Okay.” He exhales. Knows he’s going to have to drag the answers from this one, if he wants there to be talking at all, and while Zayn’s all fine with quiet, he’s not really fine with the quiet being so awkward. “Are you happy about the move? Liking this school?”

“Do you like this school?” Liam asks, and Zayn’s a little taken aback with that deflection.

“Not really.” He mumbles.

“Why not?”

Zayn shrugs. He doesn’t question why secondary school feels like his perpetual hell. Like, when he dies, and-- assuming there’s a hell, or fiery inferno of some sort-- his hell is going to be decorated in fire-truck red lockers, polished wood desks, and graffitied dicks all over the walls.

“I don’t know.” He frowns. “Not doing well, lately. Also losing the energy and patience to give a shit. Like, I’d honestly rather just get it done as quickly as possible, and just say fuck it.”

He watches Liam frown. He does that every time an expletive leaves Zayn’s lips, he’s noticed.

He finds he can look at Liam as much as he wants, because he doesn’t seem to ever look back, except for once, when their eyes meet and hold for as long as possible, before Liam’s eyes have to return to the road.

“You don’t care?” He blinks, sounding like he doesn’t quite understand that concept. “What about college?”

Zayn shrugs. “I figure I’ll go. It’s kind of the next logical step right now, but it’s not really a life-or-death scenario for me.”

When he turns to look again, he can see that Liam’s hand is up by his chest, and he’s fiddling with something in between his fingers. Maybe it’s another habit of his.

When Liam pulls his hand away, Zayn can see a small silver cross--almost too small to see-- bounce against his clothed chest, before disappearing under the neckline of his shirt when the car jostles one way.

“I’m sure you can’t be doing that bad.” Liam mumbles.

“I’m sure you don’t believe that.” Zayn replies, leaning back into his seat.

There’s quiet again, and Zayn’s just on the edge of uncomfortable when Liam speaks.

“I could always help.” Liam stops, mouth parted like he’s not really sure about the words that just left. “You...I mean, you don’t have to. I just...I can offer help. If you need it.”

Zayn is impressed with Liam’s resolve. The guy doesn’t seem to want or even like Zayn within five feet of him, let alone, right next to him, in his car. He wonders if Liam feels some divine obligation to help the less fortunate, or whatever. He’s not buying it.

“Aren’t you the good samaritan.” He murmurs, turning to give him a curious look. “Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks, eyebrows knitting together.

“I mean,” Zayn lets out a derisive noise that’s partly a laugh, and partly a snort. “That you can’t possibly be serious. Or you’re a little more book smart, than you are observant.”

“I still don’t follow.”

Zayn rests his hands behind his head, leaning back into his seat. “Why’d you move here, Liam?”

“My dad got a job here.” Liam answers, voice pitching into an upper inflection at the end, like he doesn’t understand why Zayn’s asking. “They needed a priest.”

“I know.” Zayn says, and he’s starting to put two and two together. “They’ve been looking for a new one. The last one we had, was….well. Not as holy as everyone thought. A proud adulterer, he was.” Zayn smirks, remembering the news. Zayn’s not even religious by his own standards, but the gossip was all their little community could talk about for a while, and news spread like wildfire around here. “And now you’re here.”

Liam licks over his lips again, eyebrows crept up. “I still don’t get this string of interrogative questions.”

“I’m gay.” Zayn blurts. “I smoke pot on the weekends. I have tattoos. I curse. I fuck around.”

Liam actually squirms then, like the car is just on the edge of too warm now. “We’ve got these programs. After our Sunday service. If you’re looking for help-”

“I’m not.” Zayn cuts in. He knows where this was going. “If you’re only offering your little tutoring service to me out of pity, or because you think you can fix me, then I’m gonna have to tell you to fuck off, man.”

The rest of the ride is spent in unbroken silence.

Zayn really doesn’t mind it then. He’s only fuming for the second day in a row.

And Liam doesn’t seem so pretty anymore, which is a goddamn shame all on its own.

*****************

**Liam**

Liam’s in his car still. Reflecting, wondering, pondering why he’d slowed his car down when he’d come across Zayn that morning.

Zayn had long since gotten out after Liam had parked just over forty-five minutes ago. Liam had a study hall period first, since he couldn’t find enough classes to fill his schedule, so here he’d remained all morning, just kind of staring.

There wasn’t any part of him that looked at Zayn, and thought, hey, there’s a friendship opportunity there. He didn’t want any part of Zayn’s friendship.

So why had he slowed down?

Why had he even offered a ride?  
  


The more he thinks about it, the more he wishes he’d just driven off after seeing Zayn.

Has he become so desperate for any kind of interaction that he’ll pick up the first delinquent he can find?

None of his friends have really spoken to him since the move.

There’s the occasional picture message, or the briefest of hello’s, but that promise that friends make to each other, the one where they vow to keep in touch no matter how much distance is put between them, feels false. Even though it’s in Liam’s head to cling to hope, he has a feeling that past ties to people will soon fizzle.

He touches the cross that hangs against his chest. It’s small, almost unnoticeable if you’re not looking for it, but to Liam, it feels like an anchor. Whether it’s grounding him, or sinking him, he isn’t sure.

He’s also unsure as to what it is about Zayn that has him acting so daft.

It’s later, at lunchtime, that Liam realizes it.

It’s when he’s running over the inky lines that stain Zayn’s skin in his mind. He maybe could see...Zayn could pull them off. But the boy carried the stale smell of cigarettes like his father used to before he quit, and his mouth was...well. A never ending string of profanities leaving angelic lips. It seemed wrong. He thinks of his father’s words. The Father’s.

You can’t think of yourself, Liam.

He doesn’t understand Zayn, but maybe he could help him. Help contribute to their little corner of the world, like his father’s always pushing him to do.

He thinks his father might be right this time. His father, the Father, always knows best, and sometimes it takes a while for Liam to figure that out.

*****************

**  
**  
  


It’s four days later.

Liam hasn’t seen or heard from Zayn since that first Monday, but he thinks that’s okay. He can’t tell if Zayn’s presence unsettles him, unnerves him, or irritates him, or if it morphs into a winning combination of the three.

He sits in his same seats in every class, and avidly listens through lackluster lectures that he’s hearing for the second time around, since this school is a little behind his last one.

He does his homework. He prays with his family every night at dinner. He watches a television show with them before he showers, and goes to bed.

It’s that Friday when he’s walking into the English room that he finds Zayn in the seat that he normally sits at.

He offers the boy a small smile, hoping to play it a little nicer this time, but Zayn doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even turn his cheek.

He pushes back the shred of discouragement that flares up, takes the vacant spot next to the raven-haired boy, and stares straight ahead.

He chews his eraser tip for a second or two, before chancing a look out of the corner of his eye at Zayn, who’s snorting at the buzz of a text that sets his phone screen alight, but Liam’s too far away to see the words. And he’s not a snoop.

He waits for Zayn to set his phone down, before reaching a hand out to get his attention.

Zayn looks visibly annoyed as he cranes his neck over to actually look at Liam, arched eyebrows lifted like he’s waiting to hear what this could possibly be about.

“Hey.” Liam says, offering his own pencil out to Zayn. “I actually found time to go out and buy some supplies. Here’s your pencil back.”

Zayn’s eyes drop down to the pencil, and one corner of his mouth draws back, like Zayn’s chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good, man. Keep it.” He mumbles, turning away again.

“Oh.” Liam says, and licks his lips. He can see that Zayn doesn’t have his backpack with him, let alone any supplies on his desk. Just a lone notebook, his jacket, his phone, and his headphones. Liam reaches over and places the pencil on his desk anyway. “Haven’t seen you the last few days.”

“I know. I didn’t come.” Zayn says, thumbnails clicking against his screen as he types something that Liam can’t read.

“Hm.” Liam nods, looking towards Zayn, and looking away. He’s looking back again, because he’s still not sure how to approach the topic he wants to approach. He thinks Zayn’s still maybe a little sore over their conversation the last time. “Did you catch a cold?”

Zayn exhales like his breath is cumbersome for his lungs. “No, Liam. I didn’t want to come, so I didn’t. I know. Jesus probably thinks I’m a dick. I got it.”

Liam ignores the biting sting of his last comment. “D-...” Liam pauses, eyebrows crinkling together. “Wait. Don’t they call home? Or are your parents okay with that sort of thing?”

“They call home, yes.” Zayn says, “They’ve only got the home phone number, and my parents both work. They never get the calls.”

Liam raises his eyebrows, because he can’t even fathom a day of skipping, let alone skipping just one class. Yeah, there are days when getting out of bed is the last thing he wants to do, but the thought of skipping, and the horrifying images of his parents finding out would have him anxious and worried all day. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy a day of skipping, even if he tried.

“And you just...stayed home?”

“Yes, mum.”

Liam recoils a little, and clenches his jaw, but he’s determined to push on. “Can I say something?”

“No.” Zayn mumbled, pressing a slender finger to his lips, showing Liam that it was time to quiet down. The teacher had just walked in.

The irony of it, though. Zayn couldn’t probably care less about showing up for class, and now he’s shushing Liam down when class is starting.

Liam bites his lip, and raises an eyebrow. He was soft-spoken, sure, but he wasn’t completely docile by any means. And he never gave up easily.

“Zayn.” He whispers, trying to get his attention.

Zayn looks absolutely done when he finally turns his attention on Liam. He leans in close, leveling Liam with a clouded look, and from this distance, or lack thereof, Liam’s hit with something that smells vaguely citrusy, and clouded in sweet. “What. Do. You. Need.”

“I wanted to apologize.” Liam explains, voice quiet. He has to lean back a few inches, because Zayn is close enough that Liam could probably count his eyelashes if he wanted to. “I didn’t mean to upset you the other day.”

“Upset me?” Zayn scoffs, landing a hand on his own chest, “Oh, no, why would you ever think that? Is it perhaps when you offered to faith-heal me? That couldn’t be it. Don’t be fucking silly.”

Liam blinked at the inherent level of sarcasm that dripped from his words, and shook it off. “I’m sorry. I thought I was helping.”

“You really weren’t. Don’t dry to play the puritan. I don’t need to be cured; you need to be educated.”

Liam licks his lips. “Look. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered.” He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

Zayn’s expression actually lifts as he laughs. “Make it up to me? That’s a little suggestive, even for you, buttercup.”

Liam’s cheeks color with blush, and he has to look away then. Sexual references, innuendoes, etcetera just...rubbed him the wrong way. They never go over his head, because when you attend public school, you’re desensitized.

“You’re having trouble with school.” Liam says, ignoring previous comments. “I can help you. Not...not church help, maybe, but I can tutor you. Help you study, pass your exams, stuff like that. We’ve only got about a semester left, and you need this, right?”

“What, and you’re just offering from the kindness of your heart?” Zayn blinked. “Or maybe you are, it’s hard to tell.”

“I want to help. You’re in advanced english, so you can’t be bad, right? You’ve got some potential.”

Zayn eyes him for a quiet second, where it’s only their teacher’s dialogue rattling around them, before a derisive noise is passing from Zayn’s lips. “Why? No, really. Why? What’s the catch here?”

“The catch? Honestly?” Liam asks, lips pulling up into a sheepish kind of expression. “I’ll help you study, which will look good for colleges-- not to mention, parents-- if you let me, you know...try to talk to you about maybe turning to the church.”

Zayn blinks at him, once, twice, before rolling his eyes. “No. Fuck. You know none of your sermons are actually going to sway me, right? You can’t actually cleanse someone of their homosexuality. Do any of you honestly buy that shit?”

Liam sighs, “Just...it’s what I have to do. I’m to become a priest after my fath-the Father. It’s early experience for me, and study time for you.” He pauses, “Do we have a deal?”

“No.” Zayn deadpans, cocking his head to the side. “You think I want to be judged by some uppity arsehole who thinks it’s his holy mission to turn me to God? You can’t honestly think I’d stoop to that level. I’m happy with who I am. For the most part. And it took me a long damn time, but I finally got to a place where I could embrace myself.”

“Just...please.” Liam pleads. He tears a scrap of paper from his notebook, and quickly scribbles something down, before leaning over to place it on Zayn’s desk. His number. “If you change your mind. Yeah? You won’t even have to properly listen to anything I say. Just as long as you let me say it, and I’ll know I’ve done my job, yeah?”

Zayn stares at the paper for a while, and for a second, Liam’s afraid that the boy’ll just get up, and toss it in the trash. He doesn’t, thankfully. Instead, he crinkles it up, and shoves it into one of his pants pockets.

“I’ll think about it. But I think it’ll be safer to tell you now that I’m probably going to decide against it.”

“That’s fine.” Liam says, waving a hand. “But please think about it. I think I can help. Really.”

“Great.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “My own guardian angel. Aren’t I fucking special.”

Liam counts this as a small victory. If only that Zayn considers.

********************

**Zayn**

Zayn gives himself credit for being somewhat observant.

He notices when Niall’s bleached his hair again, and the roots are no longer a sandy shade of brown, and he notices when Harry does...well, anything really, because he usually makes it painfully obvious.

So when he spots a small violet bruise on Harry’s neck that next week, he’s instantly up in arms.

They’re all sat in Harry’s car for lunch, because they’re kind of avoiding the smoking circle right now. It’s just not worth it, really.

“What is that?” Niall gawks, leaning forward to jab two fingers into the spot on Harry’s neck.

“Ow, what are you, a toddler?” Harry protests, batting Niall’s hand away.

“Yes.” Niall deadpans, tipping Harry’s chin up so that the light catches his skin better. “And you’re apparently someone’s fuckin’ popsicle, because you’ve got hickies everywhere.” He says, sounding more impressed than anything.

Niall’s hand freezes for a second, and he blinks, all wide-eyed and hopeful. “These aren’t from.... Oh, please, Harry, tell me you didn’t-”

“Frankie?” Harry scrunches up his nose. “God, no. I’d rather actually have you run over me with my own car.”

“Good.” Zayn mumbles, just relieved that Harry had made some smart decisions. “Who’s attempting to devour your neck, then?”

Harry actually looks bashful, which is a first, Zayn thinks.

“He goes to the community college.” Harry shrugs, and there’s a smirk curling at his lips.

“And you met this person how?” Zayn raises an eyebrow, wanting each little detail.

“My sister.” Harry starts. “She’s taking a theater course with him, and he came over to rehearse some scenes with her, or something.”

“And you...what, just...? Right then and there?” Niall asks, making a suggestive motion with both hands, before going back to fiddling with all dials in the car. He’s repeatedly pushing the on/off button on the stereo, but since the keys aren’t in the ignition, it remains off. Zayn suspects he likes the clicky sound it makes.

“Pretty much. Yeah.” Harry mumbles, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “He had the nicest arse. Fun to grab.”

Zayn just kind of stares, because that’s all he can really do in this situation. Harry’s Harry, and he loves him to pieces, but sometimes he’s also the most inexplicable person Zayn’s ever met.

“I’m not going to ask for specifics. Because you’ll probably get very specific. What did you do today?” He asked, nodding towards Niall.

Niall smiles, drumming the palms of his hands against his knees. “Fell asleep in shop class. Jacked off in the shower this morning. I think I had leftover noodles for breakfast. It was successful.”

“Where’s your car, Zayn?” Harry asks, head poking up like a groundhog and twisting every which way as he looks out the window.

Niall groans, head falling back against the driver’s side window, while his shoulder presses sharply into the car horn, and the honk that comes out doesn’t even startle the three of them. They’re used to it. Why either of them trust Niall in the driver’s side, Zayn doesn’t know. “Do not get him started on that. He’s been bitchy all fucking week about it. Where were you?”

Harry blinks, like this is the first he’s hearing about it, but Zayn’s pretty sure he’s mentioned it to him at least once or twice.

“It’s not important, just forget about it.” Zayn brushes it off, reaching down to his pocket to grab for his pack, finding it vacant. It does crinkle a little though, and when Zayn slips a few fingers inside the material, he finds a little scrap of paper there. Liam’s paper.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t thrown it away yet, is the thing. He’s not at all interested in working with him, and while, yes, he desperately needs someone there to motivate him and at least help him with the few subjects he’s weak at, he really doesn’t want the good little church boy there to shove religion up his bum.

*******************

The next couple of days are spent as they always are.

Zayn wakes up, eats, cleans himself up a little, but doesn’t bother too much. There’s not really much of a point.

He gets a ride on the mornings where Harry doesn’t have to be up to the school early for photography club, and walks on the days that Harry can’t pick him up.

Every once in a while, he’ll see Liam’s wood-plated station wagon drive by, but soon he doesn’t see him at all on the walk there, and figures that Liam’s found a different route.

He sees him in advanced english more than he’d like, since Liam’s taken to colonizing Zayn’s seat whenever he gets the chance.

Sometimes he’ll say hello, and ask how he’s coming with his decision, and Zayn will usually say hello, and rest his head on his desk, hood pulled up like the angsty shit he is.

Why Liam’s taken this morbid fascination to him, he doesn’t know or understand, and suspects he doesn’t want to know, although he has a hunch that a lot of it is Liam’s way of spreading the lord’s word, or whatever. The whole thing makes him a little nauseous, honestly.

It’s at night with his family that’s typically the worst.

His sisters are always all bouncing energy and loud words, so that no one else can get a word in edgewise unless they learn to speak quickly and loudly. His mother smiles across at his father, and his father smiles back, and they all pass small platters of food around and dish themselves up.

By the middle of the meal, Zayn’s father will have brought up something about Zayn’s grades, or his future or lackthereof, or whether or not he’s found a girlfriend yet. He’s not even out of high school, and they’re already pushing him to start his life. It’s the same conversation every night.

Nearing the end of their meal, it’s all Zayn can do to avoid stabbing himself with his fork, because his father can milk a lecture for hours if he feels inclined. Zayn’s not sure if it’s a control-freak thing, or just something to keep Zayn feeling just a little more miserable. He’ll keep going, and going, until Zayn’s starting to question whether or not he’s imagining the annoyingly smooth delivery of his father’s words, or if this has just become his life.

“I e-mailed your theoretical physics teacher.”

Zayn nods around the spears of his forks, but doesn’t really say much else, because he knows what’s coming.

“I’m disappointed in you, Zayn.”

Zayn nods.

“And you’ve got nothing to say?”  
  


Zayn shakes his head. No.

His father sighs, and his mother’s eyes are on her food. “I knew you were a smartarse. I always knew. But the fact that you’d write sarcastically charged remarks on an exam? Unacceptable.”

“It was only a joke.”

“It’s not funny, Zayn!” His father slams the palm of his hand on the table, and silverware clatters against the plates. His sister’s stop eating, and his mother is forcing down a drink of water and looking away. “You’ve got to the end of the month. Hear me? If you don’t shape up, you can say goodbye to your phone, your laptop, your car, everything. I’ll take everything back. You’ll find your own place. You will buy your own things. You want to be an adult? That’s being an adult.”

Zayn has to force the food in his mouth down his throat, because swallowing seems difficult now that a lump has seemingly grown there.

He acts like none of this bothers him, but if he’s honest with himself, that kind of independence thrusted on him at once scares the shit out of him. He knows he wouldn’t be able to sufficiently support himself, let alone survive.

“You can leave the table now.”

Zayn looks up, and frowns. He hasn’t been asked to leave the table since he was twelve, and caught stealing one of his dad’s cigarettes. “What?”

“Leave the table now. You’ve made the atmosphere less pleasant for everyone else, so you can just not be here at all.”

Zayn stares at him, and the whole table is thick with the tension of everything that Zayn feels and wants to say, but can’t, because he imagines that the punishment would only be that much more severe. He tries to catch his mother’s gaze, but she hasn’t looked up from her plate in nearly ten minutes, and he knows she won’t look up at any point soon. Not for Zayn’s sake.

He drops his fork to his plate, listening to metal clatter on china. His chair legs groan against the linoleum floor as he scoots back, not bothering to push it back in when he turns on his heel and walks off.

He’s lying on his bed minutes later, headphones popped in each ear, although he’s got a headache, so he’s not sure why he’s doing this. He’s listening to the same Drake song on repeat, so he thinks it’s probably worth it.

He gets a text from Niall, and another from a girl in his math class, who always wants to know if Zayn would like to copy her math answers. He never does, and he really wants to know how it is she obtained his number. He never asks, and he never messages back.

He ignores both, and instead, massages the back of his skull, because he’s really, really not enjoying these last couple of days. He knew there would be some backlash, but he hadn’t expected his father to throw a full-on fit.

Zayn doesn’t even know why his father is still expecting intellectual greatness from him. The more his father pushed, the less and less inclined he felt to impress him. He loved his dad, and he knew his father only wanted the best for him, but part of Zayn wondered if maybe his father just wanted to build Zayn in his image. Make him the strong businessman that he turned out to be.

Become an entrepreneur. Marry a pretty girl. Have a lot of kids.

When Zayn really thinks about it, he can’t see himself being happy. Not in the position that his father’s in.

Zayn’s never worked a day in his life. Which is a mistake, he thinks. He wishes he’d gotten that summer job at sixteen like everyone else had, because maybe then he’d actually have the balls to go find himself a job now, but with his age and lack of any experience whatsoever, he imagines it’ll be that much harder.

He needs a stable place. There’s no way he can survive on his own, in just about a month specifically.

Zayn thinks that these are the thoughts that spur him into the next few actions.

The ones where he’s searching through a heap of laundry on his floor to find the jeans he’d been wearing that day. He slips his fingers into the denim pockets when he finds them, and feels for the crumpled piece of paper, sucking in a breath when he finds it. Part of him wishes he’d lost it somehow, but the small scrap in his hand says otherwise. It’s a little more worn and wrinkled now, but Liam’s messy handwriting is still legible against the white.

He tells himself he needs all the help he can get. He tells himself that he can sit through a few bullshit sermons in one lifetime. He gets one from his father at least every other day, so it’s not like he’s got to pay any special attention to what Liam’s got to say.

He’s Zayn’s only option right now, and even though the prospect of that is fucking bleak, he still finds himself typing Liam’s digits into his contact list, and the phone is ringing and pressed up to his ear within the minute.

**  
**  


***********************

“Could you _stop doing that?”_

Liam looks up from his book, the end of his pen between his teeth still. Zayn’s even surprised at the sharpness of his own tone.  

He softens a little, eyes rolling back when he shakes his head. “Disregard that. I haven’t had a cigarette in a week, and it’s killing me.”

“Smoking kills, you know. Better to quit now be-”

“Before I die of lung cancer, or emphysema. I know. I watched the programs that the schooling systems require us to watch in health.” Zayn waves a hand in Liam’s general direction, cutting him off before he can even go down that road. “You’d think I wouldn’t have to hear that shit all the time, but surprise surprise. It’s never ending.”

The right corner of Liam’s mouth pulls up into something of a smile, however weak it looks. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” He answers after pulling the tip of his pen away from his mouth. He’d been clicking it against his teeth for five straight minutes, and Zayn was just about ready to break the damn thing into kindling. “But, at least you’re quitting. Right? That’s big.”

“Quitting being the operative word here.” Zayn mumbles, dragging his highlighter across a section of text he’s supposed to have finished for Lit class on Monday. “If it were my choice, I’d be lit like a chimney right now. It’s not that huge of a milestone.”

“Lit like a hearth.” Liam says, “Or...fireplace. Either work, really.”

Zayn frowns. “What?”

“Well, I mean...you can’t set the chimney on fire. Chimneys aren’t lit. That’s just where the smoke escapes outside from th-”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head. “No. Let me get it wrong. Stop.”

Liam lets out a quiet laugh, one that has Zayn sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to avoid the smile that wants to claw its way loose.

He reaches over instead to push a few of his books aside, and grab for his phone, and he’s just typing something to Harry when a hand plucks the device from his hands completely, pressing the power button. “The fuck is-”

“We’re studying.” Liam says, holding a finger up to his lips to subdue him. “And we’re in a library. And I believe you’re supposed to be studying logarithms. Not...are you seriously reading a Batman novel? There are novels?” He plucks the book from underneath Zayn’s arms, bookmarks the location, and sets it to the side.

Zayn gapes, and Liam looks way too pleased with himself when he sets Zayn’s phone aside, sitting in perfect balance between the both of them. “Yes, there are. Did you not have a comic book childhood? Or...god, tell me there aren’t comics about Jesus.”

Liam actually snorts, and shakes his head. His lips are bitten raw, and they’re swollen and rouge, and Zayn wants to bite them a little more. Wreck some of that naivety. “No, I didn’t read Jesus comics. Although there could quite possibly be such a thing. I just...I mean, yeah, I had some mates back home that would sneak some Green Lantern comics to Sunday service for me, or I’d catch up on the batman cartoons at their house, but I’m not really allowed to idolize other figures, you know?”

Zayn just stares, eyebrows drawn into a tight line. “Why do you obey even when it makes you unhappy? I mean, I’m sure your childhood wasn’t devastating. Not reading comics won’t kill you, but if you’re not happy with all aspects of your religion, why carry on so devoutly?”

“It’s selfish to only think of myself.” Liam shakes his head. “I want to help people. I mean...I saw how much my father meant to the people back home. They put so much trust and happiness in him.”

Zayn nods, reaching for the small take-out cup of coffee he’d managed to sneak in under his jacket. Thankfully, there was hardly anyone else there, so no one had taken notice, and the ones who maybe had were most likely doing the same, Zayn found. Coffee was his crutch now. When he found himself reaching for his pockets, he’d reach for the cup and take a drink instead.

“So, what I hear you saying-” drink, “-is that people idolize your father, and that’s okay?”

“Well.” Liam frowns. “He’s a man of God. So that’s different.”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head, resting his chin in his palm. “They’re worshipping him almost as if they’d worship your deity, or at least that’s what I’m gathering. How is that different than someone idolizing their favorite action hero?”

“Because people only idolize their favorite action heroes because they envision themselves as that character.” Liam says, “It’s a selfish motive.”

“You just told me you wanted to be like your father one day. Is that not idolizing him? Envisioning yourself in his place?” Zayn muses. “I can watch all the Spider-Man I want, doesn’t mean I want to jump around in a skin tight suit. Andrew Garfield’s just hot.”

Liam bites his lips again, and when his eyes flicker up towards the ceiling, Zayn thinks maybe he’s cracked that annoyingly hardened shell of patience and understanding. He’s decided he wants to see Liam angry. Irked, even, if that’s all he can manage, because right now, Liam doesn’t even seem capable of the emotion, and swallowing it up never ends well.

His expression smooths out in less than a second, and he’s shooting Zayn a smile, more out of courtesy than anything, before he’s going back to annotating in his book for english.

Zayn’s also found that english class is Liam’s weakest point, even if he’s managed to weasel his way into the advanced course, and it’s only kind of amusing to watch him struggle over the more complex pieces.

“So...what’s the sermon today, Father Payne?” Zayn scrunches his nose up. “Nevermind. That sounds like a bad porn name.”

Liam’s cheeks wash with pink, and he stares at Zayn with wide eyes, ignoring the last bit. “I’m not going to sit here and give you sermons.”

“No?”

“No.” Liam blinks, leaning back in his chair. “We can just talk.” He shrugs, staring blankly across at Zayn.

“Okay.” Zayn makes a derisive noise, dropping his pencil on the table. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Liam takes a deep breath, before he’s biting his lips, and popping his knuckles. “I’ve never broached the topic of homosexuality with anyone.”

“Really?” Zayn deadpans. “Shocking.”

Liam lets a tiny laugh slip out, before he’s reeling it in. “I’ve never really talked to someone like you, I guess?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“And I know you’re not interested in the programs my father runs now and then, I just…” Liam lets a little sigh out, folding his muscular arms across his chest. Zayn thinks he could listen to Liam with earphones in, because while they guy might be hellishly attractive, he was also hellishly ignorant. “Just want to ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you’re like this.” Liam says, cocking his head over to one side. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why people...revert to this kind of lifestyle in the first place.”

Zayn wants to actually eat his entire pencil right now.

Out of all the dumb shit that could’ve come out of Liam’s stupidly pretty mouth--

“Okay. Let’s just touch on something here. While we’re on the topic.” Zayn leans forwards, hands clasping together in front of him. “No one chooses their sexual orientation. Otherwise, you could just up and decide to abandon all your Jesus speak and start liking dick one day, am I right?”

Liam’s mouth opens, and he looks genuinely mortified for a second.

“Right. Okay.” Zayn sighs. “Now that we’ve established that. I am who I am. I don’t see anything wrong with being the way I am.”

“Yeah, but-”  
  


“No. But nothing. I don’t care if hell is real, and ready to swallow me up when I eventually kick the bucket. I’m going to live and love whoever the fuck I want.” He adds, voice surprisingly collected. Zayn’s honestly proud of himself. “I don’t want to affiliate with a group of people, or any kind of god, who calls who I am and how I love wrong.”

Liam’s mouth closes then, and he looks guilty. Shameful as he stares down at the annotated article in front of him.

Zayn reaches for his cup, and takes a sip. The liquid is cold now, but the bitter taste on his tongue settles his nerves a little.

“I know.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I know.” Liam shakes his head, frowning. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It was insensitive. And...I’m sure you’ll be very happy. With a guy.”

“With a guy.” Zayn snorts, “No need to sound so excited, Leeyum.”

Liam cracks a smile at that, eyes drawing up to meet Zayn’s. “I can be tolerant, but I just...I don’t know. I can’t fathom...being with a guy. That way.”

Zayn’s eyebrows arch up, “I take it you’ve never had a girlfriend, then?”

“No. I have.” Liam shrugs.

“Shocking. Meet her under the church bells?”

“No, I used to see her at Sunday service.” Liam says, expression blank.  
  


Zayn stares, before rolling his eyes ceiling ward. “Okay. Let’s pretend for the time being that you understand sarcasm. And let’s move back to the part where you had a girlfriend, because I’m having a hard time picturing this. Did you hold hands, and whisper bible scripture to one another during foreplay?”  
  


“No.” Liam actually smiles at that, scribbling something in his text. He shrugs. “We didn’t do anything. Which is more than okay.” He scrambles to add. “I think the idea of anything...physical is just-no. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to approach something like that. Besides, I think sex was the last thing on either of our minds. We were happy to wait.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, makes a derisive noise. “Okay.”

Liam blinks, going on to frown. “What, think I’m lying?”

“Well, yeah. A little.” Zayn fixed Liam with that look. “You’re in your late teens, almost early twenties, you can’t honestly tell me that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind. The thought probably crossed hers at least once, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Liam’s jaw dropped a couple inches, because the thought of that was just--no. It wasn’t even feasible. “No. No, really. I doubt that. I mean...yes. I’ve had...thoughts. Occasionally. But I don’t act on them, it’s-no.”

“Never?” Zayn’s eyebrows crept upwards. “Not even for a good wank?”

Liam actually felt his cheeks flood with heat. Zayn was absolutely shameless. “I’m not going to talk about….about wanking with you.”

“Sounds unhealthy.” Zayn exhaled, eyes widening for a brief moment. “I know you feel all shiny and happy in your repressed state, but just make sure you’re jacking off once in awhile. It can only help. Think about kissing your girlfriend, or scandalously showing each other your ankles, or something.”

Liam muffled the sound of his laugh behind the palm of his hand, reaching across with the other to shove playfully at one of Zayn’s shoulders, like they were old friends. He must not know his strength too well, because Zayn has to grab the table to keep himself from falling over, and shoots Zayn a look that’s all shock, and still part amusement.

“Jesus, do you bench press humans, or something?” Zayn mumbles, kicking at one of Liam’s legs under the table, and even though the toe of his shoe connects almost painfully against Liam’s shin, he still finds himself horribly amused by it all. And still horribly perplexed. He and Zayn are stellar opposites, and it’s not as if he’s opposed to liking him in an acquaintance sort of way. He just never expected to enjoy his company.

Maybe he’s also curious. Zayn’s like a new toy. All fascinating, and shiny colors, and unexplored territory. Like Liam wants to ask all the questions he can’t ask anyone else, because it’s not as if he’s been hanging around people who he could potentially spring these questions on.

“So we’ve covered me.” He mumbles, pushing his copy of their physics textbook to the side. “What about you? Any, uhm...boys? I guess?” He raises his eyes up to Zayn’s briefly.

“No.” Zayn snorts, tongue running across his bottom lip in the fraction of a second. “I’ve had boyfriends. Didn’t really like it, honestly.”

“No?”

“No.”

Liam frowns, “Why not? If you like boys, which you do claim to do, why wasn’t it enjoyable for you?”

“I dunno.” Zayn mumbles, pointedly glancing down at his textbook. “I like boys. They’re all lithe, and muscular, and I love the feeling of stubble against my cheek. Wrapping your legs around their waist while they fuck you is great, and when they pull your head back by a fistful of hair, and bite your neck, it’s fucking euphoric.”

Liam swallows--glances at the couple of strangers that also occupy the library’s desk space, but are too far away to have possibly heard Zayn’s little spiel. Thankfully. Liam kind of wishes he hadn’t just heard it.

“But that’s just it.” Zayn chews the eraser of his pencil between his teeth. “I like them in bed. It’s fucking electric. Other than that? I’ve just never felt a connection. Like...not just with men, but with anyone. Relationships aren’t for me, I don’t think. Too many signals you’re supposed to be savvy with, but I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

“And...you’re happy just sleeping around? Like, that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Zayn mumbles, shooting Liam a smile that’s borderline sarcastic, before going back to his notes.

It still confounds Liam, because it’s just not something he can fathom.

He’s never looked at another guy and thought, yeah, I want to kiss that. He’s always loved the smooth skin, and soft lips that girls possessed. How small they felt in his hands, and how he had to duck down to kiss them. He’d only ever kissed one girl, but he didn’t think he’d want to sacrifice that feeling. Trade soft hands for calloused fingers, and smooth cheeks for prickly stubbled jawlines.

Liam also thinks it’s sad.

Letting Zayn pass himself around like a piece of meat, for anyone to have a taste. He thinks Zayn can do better, despite knowing that this is none of his business, and he has a feeling that if he pushes the matter, it’ll only push Zayn further off the edge, and Zayn’s already annoyed with him.

“Eyes on your textbook, boy-Hulk.”

Liam startles, unaware that he’s probably been creepily staring for the past five or so minutes, and Zayn’s staring back.

He rolls his eyes, and darts his gaze back down, reading about centrifugal force, and not rerunning the conversation from the last five minutes over and over in his head.

****************************

**Zayn**

He’s see Liam more in that week than he does his own parents.

Maybe that’s really on purpose though, because the real goal here is to keep out of the house as much as possible, and with Liam acting like his fucking mother all the time--hanging around his shoulder; questioning whether he’s done his homework; even offering him healthy snacks, go figure--his goal is quickly becoming his reality.

They’re going to the library three nights a week now, which was two times more than Zayn had initially wanted. Maybe he had some sort of problem with being assertive, because every time Liam asks, Zayn says yes, and this big dopey smile blooms across Liam’s cheeks, like Zayn’s just offered him the world on a stick, or free food. Zayn imagines that that’s the face he probably makes when Harry makes him dinner out of the kindness of his oversized heart, so it seemed like the fitting description.

And when Zayn’s studying, or pretending to study while his eyes glaze over, he can pretend to not notice Liam’s subtle little holy mission. Whether it be when Liam’s quoting bible scripture, or inviting Zayn to a church event--supposedly to get him to feel included in something-- Zayn can live in a little bubble, and pretend that nothing’s happening at all.

He imagined that Liam would give in so much sooner.

Zayn’s not even being subtle when he shoots all of Liam’s remarks down. Why he’s still persisting, two and a half weeks in, Zayn doesn’t know, and he doesn’t very well ask either. He’s getting tests back with B’s or slightly better now, and with his father practically breathing down his neck, this can only be a good thing.

Zayn gets caught smuggling in caffeinated drinks by the library staff when he gets distracted by Liam’s steady voice, and knocks the cardboard cup clear off the table. Hot, brown liquid sloshes all over everything, and thankfully, only the carpet and Zayn’s dignity are actually damaged.

They’re kicked out.

“Nice going, man.”

Zayn can hear the smile in Liam’s voice, and he scowls when he looks across the seat divider where Liam’s eyes are fixed on the road.

His lips are curled upwards, and twitching like he’s trying to hide the very obvious smirk. Smug bastard.

“It’s your fault.” Zayn retorts, leaning his elbow up on the armrest. “You were putting me the fuck to sleep. If I hadn’t been close to catatonic, I would have been more aware. My coffee could’ve been spared.”

Liam laughs then, turning down a road to one nameless suburb that Zayn’s maybe seen. Although it could’ve easily not been this suburb, because they all look the same.

“Well, next time, I’ll bring sock puppets or something. Make the lesson more lively for you.” Liam teases.

“Is that a sense of humor I hear?” Zayn gapes, “Fucking incredible.”

“Glad I could surprise you a little, then. Pleasantly this time.” Liam smiles.

“Where are we even going?” Zayn asks, interrupting Liam before he can even open his mouth to speak again. “I don’t live here, you know. If you think you’re taking me home, you’re wrong.”

“I thought we would go to my house.” Liam explains, teeth worrying at his stupidly pink lips. It’s fucking annoying. “You mentioned you had sisters, so I thought it would be quieter at my place.”

“You know, I really prefer to have someone buy me dinner before I sleep over at their place.” Zayn mumbles, “But I’ll let you off the hook this time, since you’re kind of sucky at this whole foreplay thing.”

He only gets an eyeroll out of that, and maybe the slightest hint of a smile. Just like Zayn with Liam’s Jesus speak, Liam’s learned to ignore this side of Zayn. Maybe he flirts shamelessly, and maybe he does it just to press Liam’s buttons and just to see that pinched, flushed look that crosses his face whenever he does.

It’s all for fun, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

“You’re not sleeping over. It’s a school night.”

“Yes, Father Payne.”

And Zayn looks then, just to watch the sour look that spreads over the brunette’s face, like he’s just tasted something bitter on his tongue.

“Don’t like the nickname?”

“It’s not mine yet.” Is all Liam answers, shrugging a shoulder.

“Ah.” Zayn mumbles, raising an eyebrow.

The rest of the ride is relatively short. They drive through loops and cul-de-sacs, and they only stop to park in front of a small, beige house, with a dead cherry tree out front. It looks homey. Something Zayn imagines a nuclear family holing up in.

“Your parents home?” Zayn asks as they’re approaching the path, and Liam’s digging around his pockets for his keys.

Liam shakes his head. “No. Dad works in an office on weekdays, and mother works a shift at the local market. Normally she stays home during the weekdays, but we’re on shaky ground with the move and all.”

The inside of Liam’s house is exactly the way Zayn pictured it. It’s homey. There’s the odd crucifix hanging on a couple walls, family portraits where Liam’s young, and still got his baby fat, surrounded by a couple girls who he guesses are his sisters or cousins. There’s actual wallpaper, muted and peeling in some places, made just that more depressing by the worn-in couches huddled around a flatscreen.

There’s a neat pile of shoes by the door where Zayn slips out of his own, feeling something under his skin closely verging on uncomfortable.

Liam looks out of his place too, his head ducked as he leads Zayn through the living room, and up the stairs to the short hallway of bedrooms, and when Zayn looks through each door, there’s still small piles of boxes pushed up against walls.

Liam’s room is much of the same, only a little more bare than the rest.

His mattress is pushed up against the furthest wall, no bed spring or anything, and there’s a ratty desk pushed against the other. Other than his backpack that’s now sat on the floor, and the occasional book lying around, there’s nothing else.

“Wow. Love the decoration.” Zayn mumbles, glancing at Liam from the corner of his eye. “Very personalized.”

Liam laughs and takes a seat on the mattress, pulling his binder from his book bag. “Donated a lot of my stuff before we moved. Just stuff I didn’t need.” He shrugs, patting the spot next to him, before pulling his hand away. “We don’t, like...have to sit on the bed if you’re not comfortable with that. I hadn’t even...I don’t know.”

“Stop being a dork.” Zayn says, taking the spot next to him, maybe just a little too close. Just to feel Liam tense up while their thighs touch. It’s funny, he thinks.

It when Zayn’s holding his textbook in his lap that he feels Liam look over his shoulder, down at the scribbled equations on his paper.

“These are wrong, you know.” Liam mumbles, touching his index finger to an equation focused around using conjugates to prove a function. Zayn’s never been good at this shit, and he won’t even pretend otherwise.

“Yeah, thanks.” He mumbles, chewing his lip between his teeth. “Help me fix it, before I decide to stab myself with this pencil, please and thank you.”

“You’re all sarcasm and wit today, aren’t you?”

“You spilled my coffee.” Zayn shoots Liam a look. “Dick.”

Liam shakes his head, and starts erasing Zayn’s mistakes, leading him back up to the point where he went all wrong. He’s sure there’s many of those. At this angle, he can look at Liam’s profile unabashedly, staring at the spattering of short, bristly hairs along his jaw, and it looks like Liam forgot to shave that morning. He pulls off scruffy well. Almost sexy, and Zayn wants to hear dirty words come from those lips.

It’s a physical thing for Zayn, he knows. Liam’s probably unaware as to how attractive he is, because it’s kind of hard to miss. Maybe he looked a little plain to others, but Zayn wants to climb him like a tree, and suck violet marks into his neck. That being said, personality-wise? He was a pleasant lad, sure enough. But was Zayn emotionally attached?

Fuck no.

“Oh, yeah. Bet your ex-girlfriend had all kinds of thoughts about you.” Zayn mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

Liam stops mid-sentence, and turns to fix Zayn with a look that’s nothing short of deer-caught-in-the-headlights. “What? I didn’t hear.”

“I think you’re a liar.” Zayn answers, snorting derisively.

Liam’s eyebrows knit together. “What makes you think she’s my ex?”

“Not once,” Zayn starts, “Have you ever had your phone in your hands, texting while we study. It’s always sitting next to your books, though. I figured that if you two were still together, you’d maybe be a little more in touch.”

“That--no.” Liam stammers, shaking his head. “We’re studying. It’s not appropriate to text someone else then.”

“I always do.”

“Yeah, well. You tend to be wildly inappropriate whether it suits you or not.” Liam shot back, raising his eyebrows like he was waiting for a challenge.

“See? It’s like we’re practically friends.”

“Are we not?” Liam pipes up.

Zayn hesitates at the question. Can they really be considered friends? Liam’s views were so narrowed, or Zayn at least thought so, not to mention the fact that Zayn’s demographic of friends, while of an interesting variety, don’t include future preachers.

He’s got nothing against religion. If it makes people happy, then why not let them bask in it? But when religion infringed on his rights, and the way the world saw him? He wasn’t so inviting.

Liam was okay.

There was one point at the beginning of week two where Zayn found himself missing Liam’s company.

He’d be sitting with Harry, or Niall, and he’d start wondering what Liam’s take on their conversations would be. Would he laugh? Look appalled? Get that pink dust of blush that started from his neck and burned all the way up to his ears?

Where did Liam fit in his life?

Other than a fit lad he could ogle after school hours, and think of while he jerked himself off at night. Because Liam was kind of perfect material for that.

He could imagine the bulk of Liam’s torso boring down on him from behind, pinning his wrists against a mattress while he fucks his brains out. Imagines that Liam’s not so vanilla behind closed doors.

Were they friends? Probably not conventionally.

“I dunno.” Zayn shrugs, eyes darting between each of Liam’s own. “Think you can stomach being my friend?”

“I’ve survived so far.” Liam smiled, tapping his eraser against Zayn’s paper. “And I find that I like your company. Which is not something I ever thought I’d imagine enjoying. No offense.”

“None taken.” Zayn raised a hand, waving it off. “Thought you were a right prick when I met you, but surprise, surprise. You seem alright, Liam.” He mumbles, reaching over to give his arm a pat, before going back to his work, pulling his paper out from under Liam’s elbow.

Zayn listens to Liam inhale and exhale rhythmically, while he doodles something on the corner of his page. He should be working, but for the first time, it feels like Liam’s not apt to working either. Because while Zayn’s scribbling, Liam’s just sitting there, body turned towards Zayn like he’s expecting him to say something else, but Zayn doesn’t know anymore.

“What’s it like?” Liam asks, and it’s the first noise that has Zayn looking up, eyebrows creeping up.

“Care to elaborate, Leeyum?”

  
Liam looks like he regrets opening his mouth, because his lips are parted, and his eyes are wide and a little panicked. “I don’t know.” He admits.

Zayn frowns a little, but he shrugs, and lets his math assignment fall to the floor, closing the textbook with a huff. “I think I’d rather eat my phone than finish this right now, so...can we call it a session?”

Liam’s only staring, like english is now some foreign concept of a language to him.

“Or, we can have a staring contest. Since that seems to tickle your fancy right now.” Zayn blinks, reaching over to push gently at Liam’s shoulder. “You in there, at all?”

When Liam moves, he’s like a robot. He mutely pulls Zayn’s textbook out of his hands, and pushes it aside, and Zayn frowns again, looking down when he feels warm fingers ghost across the inside of his wrist, the one less occupied with ink and illustrations.

Liam looks just as surprised as Zayn feels about his actions, but Zayn’s better at schooling his emotions.

Liam’s frowning like he’s in deep concentration, eyes trained to where they’re touching, and it’s such a delicate touch, but Zayn’s stomach swoops.

“Liam.” Zayn inhales quietly. “What ar-”

And he wants to finish his question. He can’t.

Liam’s surging forwards in less than a second, and lips press clumsily to his own. They’re warm, and soft, and confident as they kiss Zayn, but Zayn can tell he hasn’t done this too many times. He’s experienced, Zayn can tell, but there’s not an overabundance of experience there.

There’s a hand curled around his wrist then, gently and never forceful, but it’s still there, like Liam’s not sure where to put his hands, so he figures he’ll just grab on where he can.

There’s a second where they separate, and Liam’s eyes flicker open to meet his own. Their lips are hovering within inches of each other, breathing each other’s air, and just weighing in on what had just happened.

It’s Zayn who pushes forwards this time, grabbing the front of Liam’s shirt for leverage, and it’s all teeth and tongue and clashing lips. He wants to ruin that innocence in Liam. Let it crumble and fade away while Liam holds him down against the mattress.

Zayn wants to feel more though, and moves his hands down to the hem of Liam’s shirt to do just that, pushing it up his torso to reveal the dark, sparse patch of hair that starts just around his bellybutton, and disappears beneath the front of Liam’s pants. Liam’s eating it up, breaths coming out sharp and heavy against Zayn’s lips, and for a second he thinks he hears a noise reverberate from deep in Liam’s chest, vibrating through him and all the way to his core.

Only Zayn’s knocked backwards then, and the movement knocks the air out of him for a moment. He’s dazed, breathless, and utterly confused when he looks up, finding that Liam’s not on the bed, but on the other side of the room, clutching his head in his hands.

“Liam.” Zayn blinks, standing and straightening out his shirt.

He goes to walk towards him, but Liam’s backing away like Zayn’s ready to bite.

“N-no. No. Don’t come any closer.” He growls, holding a hand out. His face is red, but his eyes are wide, and all wrong. “I think you should go, Zayn.”

Zayn goes to laugh, and brush it off. “Are you serious? It was just a kiss, Liam.”

“I don’t care.” Liam snaps, waving towards the door. The nice christian mannerisms are now occupied by something a little more primal; a little less hospitable. “Get out.”

“You kissed me, if I recall.” Zayn makes a derisive noise, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you drove me here.”

“Zayn, please.” Liam splutters, turning away from him as his face turns a new shade of crimson. “Just get out.”

Zayn stares at Liam, fuming and pissed off, but still waiting to see if maybe Liam will come to his senses. Snap out of it, whatever this is.

He doesn’t.

He stands, facing his closet, his chest and shoulders heaving before he starts angrily pacing across the carpeted floor.

Zayn swallows, wipes the feeling of shame and embarrassment from his mind. He turns to leave, casting Liam one last glance over his shoulder.

“Thanks. No, really.” Zayn blinks. “Thanks. Fucking nice of you, man.” He grumbles, gathering his things into his bag, and ignores the burning in his cheeks

He straps his shoulderbag tightly across his chest, until he has to grit his teeth at the way the straps grab at the cotton material of his shirt. He storms out of the room, making sure to slam the door on the way out.

He’s never graceful with his anger.

He scrubs angrily at his eyes as he walks down the sidewalk. The sun is hanging low in the sky, enough that the glare that hangs in his eyes isn’t so irritating. The strung up feelings of turmoil and shame that well up in his chest are. He wants to break something, or go back and demand an explanation.

Zayn doesn’t feel shame about himself or his sexuality. He feels shame about Liam though. Shameful that he’d ever fuelled this guy’s selfish motives, only to be burned by them in the end.

He sucks in a mouthful of air, breathing in until his lungs ache.

He’s never wanted a cigarette so bad.

*****************************

**Louis**

Nights like tonight were perfect.

The air was just on the right side of crisp. Not too biting, and not too muggy. Spring was on its way.

The days were getting longer, so a sky that was normally a lovely shade of violet was now dusted in fluffs of pink and candy orange.

Louis lets a smile carve its way onto his face. These quaint moments of silence allowed him to let loose. Relax. Not worry about whether others were looking at him or not.

They couldn’t taunt him here.

It was just him, the duffel bag hanging stiffly from his shoulder, and the sunset creating a silhouette of suburbia as his backdrop.

He drops the cigarette that’s hanging between his legs, and crushes it under his foot when a pair of headlights illuminate his vision.

When Niall’s pulled up directly in front of him, accidentally driving up on the curb like an idiot, Louis hops into the passenger side, dropping his duffel bag at his feet.

“Hey, man.” Niall practically beams, because he’s so happy to see everyone apparently. They’re speeding off down the block in seconds, while Niall just barely swerves around a stray cat that runs out into the road. “Finish your work for Calc?”

Louis scoffs, because when does he ever? “No. You?”

“Geometry is fun in theory.” Niall wets his lips with his tongue. “But Kellermann doesn’t bother grading homework anyway, so why put in the effort.”

“You can’t fail maths. You won’t graduate, you know.”

“Yes, that’s what the counselors tell me too. Right bunch of pricks.” Niall mentions, shooting Louis a coy smile.

The blonde always took his eyes off the road way too many times for comfort, but their evening plans made the possible safety risk worth it.

“I’m not sure I can stay out too late this time.” Niall explains, turning the heating dial up a few notches. “Mum’s practically got me on house arrest. Didn’t do my laundry, see. I can’t be trusted to go anywhere if I can’t even clean my knickers. That’s what she tells me anyway.”

“It’s okay.” Louis holds up a hand. “I can walk home no problem.”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

The drive to the school is a short one, and since everyone’s in eating dinner at this point, there’s almost no one else on the road.

They take the parking slot closest to the football field, and quickly scramble out of the car, bags on shoulders, arms brushing as they fast-walk over to the chain link fence, separating asphalt from astroturf.

They both throw their duffel bags over, and begin the climb up. Technically, it’s in violation of campus rules to use the fields at night, but it never stopped anyone before, and it certainly never stopped them.

They’d started this little tradition two years before, young and bright-eyed, having just been recruited to the junior varsity footie team. And neither had wanted to be scrapped.

“Wait here.” Niall grins, dropping his bag on the forty yardline, before sprinting off towards the bleachers, darting up each little step.

Louis takes a deep breath, and looks all around. The enormity of the stadium always took his breath away. Vast, artificial green, and beautiful. The atmosphere gave him more of a thrill than the actual sport.

After just a couple minutes he watches as the stadium lights flicker on around him, the bulbs cracking and buzzing before illuminating the field in white light. This might have painted a big red target on their arses, like hey, I’m blatantly breaking the rules, come and punish me, but they haven’t been stopped yet, and Louis doesn’t plan to stop until they are.

Niall sprints back down in less than a minute, grinning and out of breath as he digs the ball from his bag.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” Louis waves a hand. “Hurry the fuck up.”

“Stop being a poop.” Niall punches him on the shoulder, and lets the soccer ball drop, and bounce against the ground a couple times, before giving it one swift kick, sending it spiralling across the fifty.

Louis laughs, and darts after him, eyes trained on the bright aqua blue blur that shoot across foresty green. He just barely makes it in time, to grab Niall roughly by the back of his jersey, tugging him back just a couple of paces, and pivots, giving the ball a nice, sharp punt. He counts about three seconds of air time before the ball lands, sending black flecks of turf flying around it, and Louis’ off again, leaving a stunned Niall in his wake.

“Hey, play nice!” Niall calls, although there’s a laugh in his voice, but the sounds almost too far away, even if Louis knows the boy is sprinting after him in a mad dash to best him. Niall’s always been the slower runner out of the two of them, though, and this was cake.

Louis passes the ball between his feet as he makes his way closer and closer towards his goal, hips twisting to the side as he sends the ball flying towards the net with the inner side of his foot.

He waits, and Niall finally catches up then, hands on his hips while they watch the ball connect with mesh, jostling the material before landing on the ground, all tangled up.

“Nice one.” Niall says, breathless when he reaches up to give Louis’ shoulder a squeeze.

He fetches the ball, and things go on like this for a while. Chasing each other in wild attempts to out score the other, even when they start up with childish antics, like sticking a leg out just in time to trip the other, or tug the others’ athletic shorts down so that they trip on the material when it’s pooled around their ankles.

They’re mindlessly kicking the ball back and forth, when a grin inexplicably takes hold of Niall’s features.

This isn’t quite out of the ordinary, because sometimes Niall will just laugh for hours on end at something that happens to cross his mind, and no one will ever know exactly what it is in Niall’s thoughts that has him cackling like mad, and no one asks either. Niall can just pull off that level of manic crazy, and he makes it look so blissful too.

“What?” Louis snaps when Niall’s expression never wavers, and he’s looking just beyond Louis’ shoulder, past his line of sight.

“Look behind you.” Niall says, hiding another laugh behind his fingers. 

Louis frowns, and turns over his shoulder just as Niall sends the ball skittering his way again, and before he can process and save it just in time, it’s already out of Louis’ reach, and heading directly towards a boy who’s massaging his arse, supposedly after taking a nasty fall from climbing the fence. Louis doesn't think that you can even call that flat pancake-y thing an arse, and the boy now appears to be glaring at the fence like it’s personally insulted him.

Louis sighs and goes to jog after it, watching Flat Arse finally monkey his way over the fence, landing on unsteady feet. Louis’ not really surprised. He’s more astounded by the fact that those sticks that disguise themselves as legs can even hold the guy up.

Flat Arse, hearing Louis’ heavy steps behind him, turns to meet Louis’ eyes, holding them for a moment, before they shift down to the ball rolling towards him, sticking a foot out just in time to stop it.

“That’s ours.” Louis calls, jogging the rest of the way, and slowing to a stop when he’s a good three feet away from him.

Flat Arse is taller up closer, almost intimidatingly so, but Louis’ learned to stand his ground. Give himself the illusion of feeling tall, and indestructible almost.

“I kinda figured.” Flat Arse cracks a smile, bending down to pick the ball up, rolling it between both of his hands before handing it back. “You know it’s against policy to be here after dark, right?”

Louis stares for a second, eyes narrowing as he snatches his ball back. “Yes. I’m aware.” he raises his eyebrows. “You gonna report us?”

“What?” Flat Arse looks offended almost. “No. Stick it to the man, and all that jazz.” The guy laughs. “Saw the lights on. Thought I’d come check it out.”

“And you were just...what, prowling around the grounds at night?” Louis takes a small step back. “‘s really fucking creepy, man.”

“No.” Flat Arse laughs again, although he doesn’t make a move to step any closer. “I stayed late. A combination of photography club and yearbook keep me after hours sometimes. Is this something you and Niall do often?” The guy asks, venturing a look over Louis’ shoulder.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Niall calls, giving Louis that look, laced with asinine impatience. He’s like a child about ninety percent of the time, Louis thinks.

Louis whirls around, trying to process the words he's hearing. "You know Niall?" he blinks, glancing back to the blonde who looks so completely over the whole thing. "Are you his stalker?"

Curly blinks, letting slip a derisive snorting noise. "I've got better things to do than stalk people. He's been my friend for a number of years now. Surprised he's never mentioned me, actually." The guy studies Louis's face for a second or two. "And I'm here for a more specific reason. I don’t go jumping fences for fun.” The guy smiles, falling in stride easily beside Louis.

Louis' not surprised that he's never seen this boy. Maybe he is though, because someone this pretty is probably someone that Louis might give a second glance. He doesn't really take an interest in most of Niall's friends that aren't already his own, as dickish as that sounds. “Clearly.”

“Right.” The guy smiles, knocking their elbows together. “Mind if I take a few pictures of you two while you play? The yearbook’s always looking to do pages featuring the major sports and arts departments. Plus, I could get some seriously sick action shots.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the camera bag slung around the guy’s broad shoulders. “You want to take pictures of us?” He asks, just for clarification. “And you’re trying to convince me that you’re not a creep?”

Curly grins, and claps Louis on the arm. “Don’t worry. You could probably take me down in a second. My calf muscles aren’t nearly as impressive as yours.” he snorts, taking a stand still as he approaches the front of the covered bleachers. “I might also have a thing for athletes. Can’t resist a guy in athletic shorts.”

Louis actually stops dead then, jaw dropping a little at the admission. He inhales when his lungs begin to burn, and pretends he didn’t just hear what was said. “Yeah. Whatever. Just get my good angles, or I’ll hunt you down.” He mumbles, walking off without giving the guy even a chance to respond.

Niall blinks, looking between the two of them, before shrugging. “I don’t have a problem. My bare arse might make a better yearbook picture, to be completely honest.”

The taller lad wrinkles his nose, and raises a hand up. “Hello to you too, creampuff. I’m sure your bum is lovely, but I think yearbook would actually kick me out for that. Aren't you even a little curious as to why I'm out prowling the campus? In the dark?” Harry muses, lips quirking up slightly.

“It’d be worth it.” Niall calls over his shoulder, nearly tripping over the soccer ball that's being passed between his feet. "I feel like I don't even need an explanation at this point. You do you, man."

Louis looks between the both of them, wondering if maybe Niall's got any other modelesque boys under his belt. Figuratively speaking. .

They carry on like this for what feels like an hour, but when he checks his phone, he finds it’s only been about fifteen minutes. Niall’s got a bruise on his cheek from when Louis accidentally kicks the ball right at his face, and Louis apologizes profusely, but Niall laughs it off, punching Louis in the shoulder in retaliation.

The only thing that makes it slightly unnerving is the sound of a shutter clicking, and the occasional flash going off, and when Louis looks over, the boy behind the lens shoots him a coy little smirk.

When he kicks the ball for the millionth time, it doesn’t come back, and when Louis can finally pull his eyes away from the devilish boy with the camera, and back to the blonde who’s shooting him a seriously judgemental look, he raises an eyebrow, and approaches the other.

“I’ve got to go.” Niall mumbles, leaning in to press a big, wet kiss to Louis’ cheek. “House arrest and all. Have fun.” Niall smirks, reaching down to give Louis’ arse a classy pinch. “Bye, beautiful. Zayn's still gloating, so you should probably go coddle him when you get the chance.” He adds, and Louis knows that the last comment isn't directed at him.

“Bye.” Louis rolls his eyes, turning to watch him leave.

He casts Flat Arse a look, feeling his eyebrows raise up expectantly. “Get what you needed?”

The boy seems to consider the comment, before shrugging. “Sure. You’re both naturals.” He teases, moving to approach Louis while he gathers up his things.

They’re walking towards the fence while the boy looks through the photos on his camera, eyebrows knit together, like flipping through a load of photos took a ton of concentration. Maybe it did. Photography wasn’t really Louis’ strong point.

“Scratch that,” Harry stops, watching Louis toss his bag over the fence. “Didn’t get your name, did I?”

Louis raises an eyebrow, and starts his climb up the fence. “Keep your eyes off my arse.” Louis prefaces, rolling his eyes skyward when he feels himself start to smile, thankfully turned away from the taller lad. “What do you want my name to be?”

He can feel the smirk in Flat Arse’s voice, and can’t help the laugh that slips out. He doesn’t flirt often. Usually he likes to get in and get out, no fuss. But he misses flirting. He was damn good at it, too.

“Oh, it’s gonna be that way, is it?” Flat Arse quips.

“Yeah,” Louis drops down effortlessly on the other side of the fence. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Flat Arse seems to mull this around in his mind, and grins. “Okay. Fair deal.” He says, biting his lip between his teeth when he attempts to start the climb up.

Louis watches him place his foot in just the wrong place, and slip, luckily landing on his feet this time.

He actually pouts, and leans heavily against the fence, fingers looping into the links of the fence. He leans his forehead up against it next, and shoots Louis this look that makes him want to step in a little closer. Wants to hear a secret.

“I lied.” Flat Arse blinks, cocking his head over to one side. “I really need to know your name.”

“Really?” Louis scrunches his nose up. “I like that whole aura of mystery bullshit. Might be a mistake to give that information away so soon.” Louis snorts. He highly doubts he’ll see this boy again. They don’t have any classes together, as far as Louis’ aware, and he doubts they attend the same social gatherings.

“The aura of mystery thing is hot. So is the athlete thing.” The guy says, reaching through the fence to run a couple fingers down the front of Louis’ jersey. “But will you tell me? A favor from one stranger to another.”

Louis licks his lips, leaning his hip up against the flexible metal chain link. “What’s your name?” he says, going to deflect the topic instead.

“Harry.” Flat Arse answers without any hint of hesitation.

“Harry.” Louis smiles, reaching across to lightly tug at one of the unruly curls sticking through the fence. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

He gives him one last lingering glance, before turning on his heel to start his trek home.

He smiles all the way there, thinking of bright eyes, and longer hair that screamed angsty art student, and long clumsy legs.

He thinks of flirting, and elbows knocking together.

He runs a hand through his hair, and stares up at the night sky, and the stars scattered along the deep blue like fairy dust.

For the first time, he feels in control.

Even if Harry won’t make another appearance in his life.

***************************

**Liam**

Liam has never skipped school in his life.

Never.

That Friday morning though, after a night of little to no sleep, all Liam can think about is faking an illness to get out of going. Something he’d heard of all of his friends doing back home, but never having enough courage to do himself.

His mother buys it though.

She worries too much sometimes, and when Liam complains of stomach cramps and a migraine, she calls into the school for him, and stocks him up with about five water bottles, and a box of crackers.

He sleeps for the first two hours, finally able to get some semblance of rest, but wakes up in a cold sweat at around noon. He doesn’t even know why. He’s not really ill. Maybe it’s psychosomatic.

Everything he’s ever been told from the time he was young told him that same sex attraction was wrong.

His father had always drilled it into him that he was to marry a sweet christian woman, like maybe he was afraid that Liam would stray and run off with a guy instead.

He doesn’t even remember making the conscious decision to kiss Zayn. One moment, he was actually doing his job, doing his homework like a good student. The next, he was thinking about wanting to feel Zayn’s lips against his own. Wondered what he tasted like, what firm muscle and scruff felt like. The pull to Zayn felt as inevitable as gravity.

The most confounding thing to him was that it had felt so...nice? So natural. Like Zayn was the person he was supposed to be kissing. His heart had given a painful lurch, and part of him had wanted to take it slow, explore Zayn’s mouth, and memorize how he tasted on his tongue. The other part had him...thinking of other things. Not age appropriate things.

He shivered at the thought.

He was not gay. He couldn’t be gay. Couldn’t even be bi. And he hated himself almost for liking it so much. Loving that kiss. Hating the way the moment replayed over and over in his head like a horror film.

He couldn’t face Zayn anymore. Never again. Zayn wasn’t good for him, clearly. He wasn’t going to fall down that rabbit hole. Wasn’t going subject himself to that life.

Maybe he was actually getting a migraine. Part of him thinks he deserves it.

************************

The weekend passes fairly inexplicably.

He spends the whole weekend hating himself. He goes to church, and actually gets to help his father with the sermon this time, but public speaking has never been his thing, and he stumbles over his words. He can’t help it. It’s a new town, new flock. New regrets.

His father can only stare at him with a look dripping with disappointment, and a muted shake of his head.

Liam ducks his head in shame. Prays for forgiveness for so many things.

When Monday rolls around, he knows he can’t skip again. Knows he’d feel guilty knowing that he’d worried his mother longer than absolutely necessary.

There are bags under his eyes, he hasn’t shaved, and the fact of the matter is is that he’s going through some kind of crisis of faith.

This is a test. He knows that now.

The problem when he actually gets to school is that he knows he’s got no friends. He’d spent so much time with Zayn, following him around like a shadow, that he’d completely forgotten to make other friends. Ones who were more like him.

He’d never felt more alone as he glanced around at his peers travelling in groups of twos or threes. Maybe if he’d made some acquaintances on his first day he’d be okay, but this far along? He didn’t stand a chance.

He’s like a zombie.

He wanders to and from each class, his eyes void of any of their usual warmth. He doesn’t feel like plastering on a smile today. It feels too heavy right now. He still gets some eyes on him. Not because he’s the shiny new boy, but because he’s the loner that never bothered branching out. He just doesn’t fit here.

He just barely hears anything that any of his teachers say. Doesn’t really care about listening. There’s a first for everything, he assumes.

When he gets to english, he avoids Zayn altogether, and takes a seat on the opposite side of the room. He can no longer see the board, and can occasionally feel Zayn’s eyes land on him with his chin propped in his hand.

After about a half an hour in, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, startling him out of his daze.

He pulls it out, not even surprised when Zayn’s name pops up with a text attached to it.

_are u ok?? -Z_

Liam looks across the room, but Zayn’s not looking at him. He very pointedly has his gaze fixed on the board.

_Not really. im trying to focus. -L_

It’s about ten minutes later when he gets a reply.

_u havnt heard a goddamn thing that the teachers been saying. -Z_

__

Liam resists the urge to groan, and leans his head down against the desk, pulling his hood up over his head. He needs a couple minutes before he can reply. He hates when Zayn’s right, or he thinks he does now at least.

_if you say so... im srry for kicking u out of my house. it was rude. -L_

_it was fuckin rude. -Z_

Liam frowns down at the text, and glances over again, but this time Zayn’s looking back, studying Liam with a slight furrow to his brow.

_Did u thnk about me?. -Z_

Liam feels his stomach flutter, and he can’t tell if it’s from the rush of it all, or if it’s because he feels sick.

_No. -L_

_liar. -Z_

Liam glares down at the text, and slams his phone down, surprising himself along with the classmates that were sat around him, who all turned to give him an alarmed once-over.

He ducks his head down sheepishly, relieved when they all lose interest and turn away. He feels his phone buzz against the desk a handful of times, but doesn’t bother looking. He knows it’ll only get him feeling more agitated.

After about ten more minutes of Liam stewing in self-pity, he hears footsteps making their way closer and closer, and when he looks up, he catches Zayn’s eyes just as the boy reaches the door, and quietly lets himself out.

Liam just stares at the spot that Zayn was just a few seconds ago, feels his heart lurch beneath his rib cage. He taps his foot, drums his pencil against his thigh, anything to keep his hands busy.

Eventually, he can’t resist. He needs to know. Maybe it’s dangerous, following Zayn’s little game through to the end, but it’s eating him alive, and his skin itches to find out. He pockets his phone, and stands, staring at the teacher warily, like maybe she’ll stop and scold Liam for being so rude. But she hardly seems to take notice, and Liam can slip out quickly and quietly.

His palms are clammy by the time he gets to the bathroom, rocking back against the door to keep it from slamming loudly.

Propped up against one of the sinks stands Zayn, arms folded across his chest. Liam doesn’t know why he’s so surprised to see him. He knows what he’s doing.

“So.” Zayn breathes, drumming his fingers all matter-of-factly. “Had yourself a little freakout, did you?”

Liam’s arms fall limply to his sides as he levels Zayn with a look that pleads. “What do you think?”

Zayn scoffs. “You kissed me, mate. Should I be punished for that?”

“No,” Liam splutters, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you at all. It was...not my smartest decision.”

“Please.” Zayn flicks his eyes ceilingward. “Forget what your father preaches to you every Sunday for just a second. You don’t just kiss someone for the hell of it.” Zayn mumbles, stepping a little closer. “I suspect that you liked it.”

“You do, do you?” Liam raises his eyebrows, but his cheeks flood with heat. He wants to deny it, but that doesn’t feel entirely honest.

“Yes.” Zayn takes another step in again. Liam swallows thickly, and looks away. “I think you want to do it again.”

“Do you?”

“Do you not?” Zayn shoots back, raising his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Liam to say otherwise.

He can’t, is the thing.

They stand there in heavy silence, just staring, and like this, Liam can forget where he’s from for a second. Something that feels so good can’t be entirely bad, can it?

“I’m going to kiss you again.” Zayn speaks, moving to stand in front of Liam, so Liam’s the one caught against the sink this time.

Liam stares, watching something so surreal. He wants to reach out and touch Zayn, just to make sure this is all happening. “Yeah.” Liam replies, and it comes out breathier than he intends it to.

When Zayn leans in this time, it’s like he’s watching it happen in slow motion. Zayn’s eyes close, his darks eyelashes fanning out against his cheek, and Liam has just a split second to really look at him, before he’s meeting him halfway, gripping the sink while his upper body is leaned forward, groaning when he feels Zayn’s tongue swipe out, licking along his bottom lip.

He feels a hand claw its way into the material of his shirt, dragging him forwards so that their fronts are pressed tightly together, and Liam can feel every labored breath, every flutter of Zayn’s heart pounding against his own.

He lets his lips part when he feels Zayn’s tongue brush along the seal of his lips, and it’s messy and hot, and Liam wants to be devoured by this feeling. It’s so wrong, he knows, but he wants it so much.

He doesn’t even realize he’s embarrassingly half hard until he feels cold, slender fingers brush across his lower stomach, just above the waistline of his jeans, and for a second he’s too winded to register what’s happening.

“You’re gettin’ all excited there, preacher boy.” Zayn speaks, and it sends a thrill through Liam’s body. One that makes him want to pin Zayn up against the sink, and do things that are unfathomable to him right now.

“Can’t really help it, can I?” Liam breathes, letting a hand wrap around one of Zayn’s wrists again, holding him in place.

He actually moans out when he feels a hand slide down the front of his boxers, and wrap around his prick. His eyes squeeze shut, and he can’t help but tremble, because _oh god, this is actually happening._

He knows he should stop this. He really does.

_“Ah.”_ He practically moaned, arching forwards to bury his face into Zayn’s neck, gripping onto him tightly.

Zayn’s wrist gives a couple of sharp tugs, and Liam’s whole body jerks, as a fiery hot kind of pleasure courses through him, and he wants so much more.

“Come on, Liam.” Zayn whispers hotly in his ear. “Moan for me.”

And Liam does. Loud and unabashedly when he feels Zayn’s thumb brush across the head, smearing the fluid that had gathered there.

He digs his nails into Zayn’s arms, all those inky tattoos shining starkly in contrast with Liam’s own skin. “Zayn, I c-can’t...I’m-”

“I know.” Zayn whispers, squeezing his fingers around him once. “Cum for me.”

Liam’s hips jerk forward into Zayn’s hand, and when the tight coil in the pit of his stomach gives an uncontrollable lurch, he feels his cock twitch in Zayn’s hand, eyes widening as he releases a final moan against Zayn’s neck, orgasm washing over him so instantaneously that it has him blindsided for a second or two.

Liam feels his knees buckle, and doesn’t think he’d stay upright without Zayn’s tight grip around his middle, holding him in place. Or just barely, judging by the way Zayn has to plant both feet firmly down to hold them both up.

It’s only when Zayn slips his hand out of Liam’s pants that Liam actually takes the hint, and pulls back, leaning his weight back against the sink. There’s a mess in the front of his boxers that he winces at now, and honestly, he should think things through a little more in the future.

He hears the sink next to him turn on while Zayn washes his hands, and neither of them say a word. Just absorb their quite literal messy situation.

There’s a sheen of sweat covering him almost everywhere, and if that wasn’t bad enough, when he looks in the mirror, he actually looks wrecked. Like there’s guilt written all over him. Someone could look at him, and know what he’s been up to.

He sucks in a breath, and turns to Zayn, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can, Zayn’s beating him to the punch.

“Send me a message when you’re ready to study again.” Zayn says, finally lifting his eyes to Liam’s. His expression his blank, but behind that stony stillness, Liam thinks he sees something smug there. When he looks down, he can see a bulge straining against the front of Zayn’s jeans, and his eyes widen a little as if on instinct, shivering a little at the fact that he caused that. That was his fault.

Before he can even process and think of anything to come back with, Zayn’s smirking none too subtly, and leaving without another word.

Liam doesn’t curse. Ever. Just like he doesn’t cut class.

If there was ever a time to curse though, it would probably be now.

  
He was so, utterly fucked.


End file.
